Legality
by fruitflyxo
Summary: Legally Blonde AU. Kurt Hummel is graduating from UCLA, he's been Delta Nu Sorority's Anchor Man Sweetheart for three years straight, and he's just about to get engaged to his dream man Samuel Evans III. He has it all, until the rug is pulled out from under Kurt and his dreams must change. Harvard Law School will never be the same, and neither will Harvard alum Blaine Anderson.
1. Oh My God, Seriously?

**Title:** Legality (1/?)

**Rating:** R (MAYBE NC-17 eventually. Don't hold me to it.)

**Pairing:** Starting Kurt/Sam, ending Kurt/Blaine. Eventually there will be a MULTITUDE of other pairings.

**Summary:** AU. Kurt Hummel has it all. He's about to graduate from UCLA summa cum laude with a degree in fashion merchandising, he's been Delta Nu Sorority's Anchor Man Sweetheart for three years straight, and he's just about to get engaged to his dream man Samuel Evans III. Or, so he thinks, until the rug is pulled out from under Kurt and his dreams must change. Harvard Law School will never be the same, and neither will Harvard alum Blaine Anderson. Inspired by Legally Blonde the musical and movie.

**Author's Note:** I'm obsessed with Legally Blonde, have been since 10 years old when I first saw the movie. My obsession was renewed when I saw the musical on MTV (watch it on youtube if you haven't, it's fabulous!). And what could be better than Legally Blonde? Klaine Legally Blonde, that's what.

First and foremost, I have to thank my amazing, incredible, wonderful, patient, brilliant beta **Summer**. She has been a HUGE help with this story and it really would not be here without her. Find her on tumblr at **betweenthedimandthedark**.

You can also find me on tumblr at **fruitflyxo** and ask me anything!

This story is going to end up being at least 20 chapters and it will NOT be identical to (or even closely follow) the musical OR movie so come on board for the ride!

**Disclaimers:** I am in a sorority but I definitely do not go to UCLA or Harvard. I also do not own any recognizable characters or places or things. I just like to write words on the page.

* * *

"Mercedes! Britt! Have you signed Kurt's card yet?" Tina yelled up the stairs. The Delta Nu Sorority house was buzzing with energy as most of the chapter was there for the surprise party. More sisters breezed in through the back door, shedding their UCLA Cheerleading jackets as they came in from outside. Tina followed the procession of the big, pink, glittery card as each sister signed the inside.

"We're coming!" Tina heard Mercedes yell back as footsteps pounded on the stairs. Her two friends, one blonde and pale, the other dark-skinned and dark-haired, rounded the corner dressed fabulously.

"Excellent!" Tina approved of their outfits, handing them the card to sign.

"Alright girls!" she called to the room at large, but the noise level did not change. "DELTA NU!" Tina yelled in a sing-song voice, using the sorority's secret code.

"Pink and Blue!" the room replied, snapping on the words.

"Anchored True!" The sisters all said together, full attention now to Tina, their president.

Tina smiled at her sisters. "Alright ladies, Kurt Hummel, better known to us as our Kappa Beta Chapter's Anchor Man for three years running, is getting ENGAGED tonight!" The whole room erupted in squeals and snaps.

"Okay, okay!" Tina called, quieting them back down. "Everyone signed the card, right? He should be here in fifteen minutes so Mercedes can approve of his outfit and give him his pre-date pep talk. We'll meet him in the foyer and you guys will hide in here—" she stopped as three phones went off at once. Tina picked up her phone at the same time that Mercedes and Brittany did, and after they read the group text they glanced at each other in horror.

"Change of plans! There's a fashion emergency! Britt, Cedes, and I have to go calm Kurt down. Stay here, don't panic, and get the cheesecake bar set up." Tina called to an anxious crowd of sisters as she grabbed her wallet and keys.

"Let's go! Kurt's in trouble!" Britt called as she and Mercedes ran out the back door after Tina.

* * *

Kurt discarded another silk button-down onto the ever-growing pile in his dressing room. He buried his face in his hands briefly, trying to pull himself together. It didn't have to be perfect, he tried to reassure himself. It just had to be close, very close.

He looked up at the mirror, uncovering his eyes but keeping his hands on his face. A scared young man with big blue eyes, freshly spray tanned skin, and (mostly) sun-bleached blonde hair stared back at him. He looked like he could use a massive pep talk.

_This could be—no, it IS—the biggest night of your life, Hummel. He's going to ask you to go to Massachusetts with him. You've got to be ready and that includes having the perfect outfit._

When his boyfriend of two years had asked him to dinner, Kurt knew instinctively that this was no ordinary evening out. He had instantly noticed the nervous but sure way that Sam had suggested the outing, his unnecessary reminder that Kurt should wear something nice, a subtle indication that he had something important to talk about. When he hung up the phone, Kurt could only think of tuxes and flowers and his father leading him down the aisle. Kurt had long been dreaming of marrying Sam, and now, with his graduation only a semester away, it was the only thing he was sure about anymore.

"Mr. Hummel? Are you okay?" The sales attendant knocked on the door softly. Kurt had been here so long that the store manager had sent someone to check on him. He straightened up and moved to the door of the dressing room.

"Yes, sorry," he called through the door, running a hand through his hair, "I'm nearly done, I just—"

"Kurt? Kurt, are you there?" He would recognize that voice anywhere: Mercedes. Kurt heard a muffled voice say "I don't think the first place we should look for Kurt is in a closet…" and a third voice barely stifle a laugh, then make shushing noises. Brittany and Tina were there too. Thank God.

"I'm in here!" he called quickly as he opened the dressing room door clad only in his undershirt and dress slacks. His three best friends stopped in their tracks, mouths agape. Except for Brittany, who was still trying to look under the doors of the other dressing rooms.

The girls had never seen him in such disarray. His hair was mussed from its normally perfect coif, sticking up every which way from where Kurt had run his fingers through it in frustration. And his clothes, Kurt Hummel never came out of a dressing room partially undressed. The girls knew it had to be bad.

"I'm having some serious shopping problems," Kurt tried to explain, panic creeping into his voice. "Everything looks wrong, fits wrong, _feels_ wrong-"

Mercedes moved in to hug him tightly. "We're here to help! Of course you want to look perfect for Samuel tonight. It's the first night of the rest of your lives together!"

Kurt smiled gratefully at his friends and took a deep, calming breath. With them there, he could do this. "Yes, that's it. I've been mildly freaking out all week long, and Sam's been so secretive, and you know he accidentally sent me that text message '_I'm going to do it Saturday night_,' and just, yes. This is it. And in the wake of my whole life changing and all, I can't even dress myself! This has never happened to me before!"

"It's okay, that's what sisters are for," Tina smiled, squeezing Kurt's hand and running the fingers of her opposite hand over her anchor necklace.

Kurt took a deep breath. "Okay, let's do this."

* * *

At 6:30 sharp, Kurt was stationed in the foyer of the Delta Nu house, wringing his hands and glancing at his reflection every ten seconds in the mirror.

Tina gently took his hands, untangling them from the death grip they had on each other. Mercedes brushed his shoulders off once more with the lint roller and Brittany stepped up and straightened his bow tie.

They had settled on navy blue pants, matching vest, and an ice blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The bow tie was pink with blue anchors stitched into it, a tie that neither he nor the girls could resist as soon as they saw it. "So you know that your Delta Nu sisters always have your back," Mercedes said, winking, as she insisted on buying it for him.

"You're going to be fine. You're a frigging force of nature, Kurt." Tina smiled up at him.

"Seriously, Kurt. You really let that salesperson have it when he tried to sell you that shirt," Brittany chimed in from where she was gripping his forearm.

"He should have known better than to try to pawn off last season's rejects on me! Seriously, do I look that ignorant? Just because I'm blonde doesn't make me dumb. I hope he learned his lesson. Honestly, pre-shrunk Egyptian cotton? He thought that was a thing? He should be fired before he hurts himself." Kurt huffed as the lingering feelings of frustration and insult prickled the back of his neck.

Mercedes smiled, clearly amused at his outburst. "I'm sure that salesman will read every issue of _Vogue_ now to make sure he's got his frauds in order," she quipped, making one last adjustment to Kurt's hair and applying a final coat of hairspray.

The three girls backed away from Kurt simultaneously, standing behind him as he gazed into the large mirror on the wall. _I look good, _Kurt told himself. He couldn't help but add an, _I think…_

"I'm ready," Kurt said, sounding much more confident than he felt. He grinned at the reflections of his dearest friends in the mirror when the doorbell rang.

Kurt watched his own eyes widen in fear as Tina, Mercedes, and Brittany all gave little shrieks of excitement. Brittany and Mercedes darted up the staircase to join the rest of their sisters, who were eagerly hanging over the banister to get a look at Kurt and Sam. Tina moved to open the front door for Kurt, giving him a brief kiss on the cheek. "Good luck," she breathed into his ear.

Wiping his slightly damp palms on his slacks, Kurt nodded at Tina and she pulled open the doors.

Kurt's breath caught in his throat as his eyes locked on the figure standing there.

Samuel was impeccably dressed in a dark suit and light colored dress shirt, setting off the blonde of his hair nicely. He ducked his head adorably as he took off his sunglasses and looked at Kurt with a smile.

Kurt returned the smile, feeling his nervousness dissipate as Sam reached forward to take his hand and brush his lips over Kurt's knuckles. Kurt used the touch to pull Sam forward into a kiss, curling his other hand into the lapel of his coat.

A chorus of sorority girls sighing a collective _"Awww!"_ erupted behind him and Kurt smiled against Sam's lips. Sam broke the kiss, startled, and looked up into the foyer at the curved staircase and open landing. Kurt turned around in time to see a hundred women wave sadly with the same forlorn expression on their faces. Kurt smiled.

"Sorry bitches, he's spoken for!" he called gleefully and dramatically escorted Sam from the building. Kurt took his outstretched hand, and even with the door shut he could hear the peals of laughter from the Delta Nu house. He couldn't help but join in.

* * *

Sam hadn't told Kurt where he was taking him to dinner, so when they pulled up outside the restaurant where they had gone for their first date, Kurt's heartbeat picked up to double time. The suspicions he had been having all week were slowly turning into solid fact. This was it. It was really happening. Kurt's stomach flipped and filled with butterflies.

"So, Chef Sake's?" Kurt said, attempting at nonchalance.

"Yeah. I know how much you love spicy tuna rolls, Pooh Bear," Sam replied with a wink. Kurt laughed good-naturedly at the silly nickname. Sam insisted that Kurt reminded him of his favorite childhood cartoon character, something about the single-minded quest for honey.

They were seated right next to the large fish tank that took up most of the wall. As predicted, Kurt ordered a spicy tuna roll while Sam got fried rice, a California roll, and hibachi steak. Kurt rolled his eyes as the mountains of food came to their table.

Kurt daintily dipped his spicy tuna rolls into the wasabi-soy sauce mixture, taking care not to drip any of it on his outfit. He nursed two glasses of Diet Coke, somewhat wishing that he had something a little stronger to take away some of his nerves. The chopsticks that came with his meal were a great distraction for his fidgety hands. Sam was in the middle of a monologue, discussing Matthew McConaughey's new movie, and Kurt tried to nod at the right places but his mind wasn't totally in it. Instead, his brain was preoccupied with overthinking Sam's every movement. Kurt watched as his hopefully soon-to-be fiancé leaned slightly to the left, his hand drifting towards his pocket…for maybe a small velvet box? He sighed internally when he realized that Sam was only clutching a penny. Wait, what?

"Sam, honey, it's not a wishing well. You cannot throw coins into the fish tank," Kurt said patiently, easing the penny from Sam's hand. His handsome face fell considerably.

"They're just so neat, like giant goldfish!" Sam enthusiastically poked at the glass wall of the aquarium, causing several of the fish to follow his finger.

"Koi, dear," Kurt corrected softly, plucking lint from his dress slacks.

Finally, long after Kurt's plate had been taken away, Sam finished his mountain of rice and meat. He patted his stomach and slouched in his seat. Kurt rolled his eyes, but in a loving way, charmed by the way his boyfriend could be brought up so well and yet still act like he was raised in a barn. Kurt didn't allow him to take off his shoes in public anymore, but that didn't stop him from trying.

"Kurt," Sam began, and Kurt's head snapped up attentively. His tone seemed to allude to the beginning of a big speech.

"Yes?" Kurt said breathlessly, leaning forward in anticipation.

Sam took the hand that Kurt had rested on the table in his, intertwining their fingers. Kurt's face relaxed into a smile. It was finally happening.

"Pooh Bear, these last two years with you have been a blast. You know, since birth my parents have been priming me to become a lawyer. My dad always wanted me to follow in his footsteps and go to Harvard law school. I fought them tooth and nail to let me come out to California for my undergrad, to live near the ocean, where it's warm, and to be a brother in Omicron Tau Rho. All of those things have made my four years in LA amazing. Oh, and you, too," he added almost as an afterthought, patting Kurt on the hand.

An odd way to start a proposal speech, but Kurt supposed he would take it.

"My point is," Sam started, pausing to collect his thoughts. Kurt waited patiently, but his calm façade was betrayed by the uncontrollable tapping of his right foot under the table. The butterflies in his stomach had melted down into pure nervous adrenaline that zipped through his veins, putting every fiber of his being on alert.

The pause stretched into an awkward silence. Sam kept gazing over Kurt's shoulder until the suspense killed him and Kurt finally turned around to see what Sam was staring at. It was either the waitress taking the order at the next table or the oddly dressed couple she was serving. The waitress really was the classic definition of attractive, all long legs and big boobs, and Kurt's stomach swooped unpleasantly. Sam had always been forthcoming about being bisexual, something that had almost kept Kurt from dating him because it still made Kurt uncomfortable to think that he had competition from women.

"Sam, dear," Kurt hissed through his teeth. "You were saying?"

"Right, right," Sam turned his eyes back to Kurt's face. "The plan. My life has always had a plan: become a lawyer, settle down on the East coast, get married, have at least three kids—"

"Like the Kennedy's," Kurt finished for him, smiling slightly. He had heard the plan many times.

"Yes," Sam agreed, smiling back. "And I've been talking to my parents a lot about that plan, as I'm getting ready to move back east, probably for good. We discussed how I'm going to take what I accomplished in California back with me to Massachusetts. It's time for me to get serious about my future, Pooh Bear."

Kurt shifted in his seat, his face lighting up with a wide smile, ready to commit Samuel's next words to memory.

"I love you, and our time together has been amazing."

Kurt closed his eyes, savoring the warm build of anticipation.

"But I think it's time for us to break up."

Kurt opened his eyes in shock, his mouth falling slightly open, too. He snatched back the hand Sam was holding like something had bit him.

"You're breaking up with me?" The words came out more like a squawk than anything, the sound closer to animal than human. A few heads turned toward their table, then quickly away.

"Pooh Bear," Sam glanced around nervously, "Now, don't make a scene—"

"Oh, I will MAKE a scene, Samuel Evans III!" Kurt practically yelled, on purpose this time, shoving his chair back from the table abruptly. He had the attention of the entire restaurant now.

"Kurt, listen, you can't really be surprised here."

Kurt was disgusted to detect the pleading note in Sam's voice.

"Oh really? Because I thought that you took me here, to the place where we had our first date, to propose to me, Sam, and to ask me to move to Massachusetts with you. That's what I thought. So forgive me for being a little bit surprised!" Kurt threw his hands up in frustration.

"Well, I, I did talk to my parents about that," Sam said apologetically, trying to reach for Kurt again. He crossed his arms firmly and Sam retracted his searching hand. "But we agreed that I'm going to need someone serious if I'm going to be a senator by the time I'm thirty! You know, less of a Clinton, more of a Lincoln!"

Kurt couldn't keep his mouth from gaping open. With stiff, unfeeling fingers he grabbed his shoulder bag and stood up, towering over Sam. His eyes widened and he looked stricken, but Kurt was way past the point of gentleness. "I may not be serious, Sam, but I am seriously in love with you. If that's not good enough for you, then I don't know what is."

The look of regret on Sam's face was enough for Kurt. He turned and flounced out of the restaurant, ignoring the stares that followed him.

He got about two blocks before the numbness of indignation fell away and all that was left was raw, aching hurt. Kurt gasped for breath as the sobs came, racking his body with the physical manifestation of the brutal, unforeseen rejection he just received. He braced himself momentarily on the wall of a brick building. When he turned to see the company name stuck to the glass window, he laughed bitterly at the injustice of it all. He was sobbing over Sam in front of a lawyer's office.

With trembling fingers, Kurt extricated his phone from his bag and picked the first name off his recent calls list. He took a deep shaky breath to steady himself, but when Tina answered, voice so full of excitement, he broke down again.

"Please, come get me," he choked out, and her words immediately became concerned and sympathetic. "I'll explain later. Just please, pick me up." Tina coaxed his location out of him and then hung up, her soft noise of worry breaking Kurt's destroyed heart just a little bit more.

Kurt looked down at the outfit he and his friends had so carefully chosen and the shoes he had polished earlier, both blurred almost beyond recognition through his fast-coming tears. The sidewalk was certainly not clean, but he found that his legs no longer worked and his brain did not have space available to care about his clothes, every cell occupied with anguish. He threw his phone back in his bag and sank to the ground, defeated.

* * *

"How long has it been?" Ashley whispered to Mercedes and Brittany where they kept vigil outside the door marked 134 in the Delta Nu house.

"Twelve days," Mercedes answered mournfully, looking in anguish towards the door. From inside, a soap opera blared, not quite covering the sound of dry sobs.

Brittany nodded her head gravely. "I think he's aging backward and turning into a teenage girl. I've seen twenty packages of chocolate cheesecake go in there and none have come back out."

Tina came around the corner and sighed at the small group of worried Delta Nus talking quietly. She looked at the door sadly, taking in the message board with pictures of Kurt, herself, and her sisters.

Technically, boys weren't supposed to be in any private room of the sorority house, ever. As president, Tina was really risking a lot in turning a blind eye. But when Charlotte had to move out of Room 134, no one would take her spot. And then Kurt was really drunk one night after going to the bars and Tina had made up the mattress with her extra sheets and blankets so he wouldn't have to drive. In typical Kurt fashion, he took that as permission to start using the room as a bit of a second home, a place to escape in the middle of the day when he couldn't go back to his dad's house. When he started hauling in furniture Tina put her foot down, worried that the old ladies that kept a close watch on the Delta Nu house would throw a fit. Kurt had been hurt, but not even two days later he came up with a solution: make it look like the room of a sister, and the little old ladies would never find out. When Tina saw the flawless pink duvet with blue sheets, the perfect throw pillow featuring Delta Nu's letters and the symbolic anchor, she couldn't say no. Kurt was so thrilled to have a little escape from the world, and who was Tina to take that away?

The night Tina brought him back to the house from Chef Sake's, Kurt disappeared into Room 134 and had not since been seen, though sisters were diligent about bringing sympathetic food and supportive notes. Tina herself had ordered him his favorite pizza, half Hawaiian and half veggie lover's. At all hours of the day a group of Delta Nus could be found sitting around the door, trying and failing to find something, anything to do to help Kurt. They had not seen his face in over a week, but took comfort in knowing he was alive from the constant blare of bad television.

From inside the room Kurt yelled, presumably at the TV screen, and Tina jumped a little at the sound. The sorority women gathered in the hallway scrambled to their feet.

"He's lying! He doesn't love you! He's never loved you!" Kurt wailed. A loud thump startled the sisters again; Kurt had thrown something.

"Alright, that's it. I'm going in," Tina said, squaring her shoulders. She couldn't let this tragedy proceed any longer.

Her sisters gasped.

"You can't!"

"He's not ready!"

"What if you get eaten too?"

Tina smiled fondly at Brittany's words, but persisted. "He needs to break out of this slump. The longer he pines, the worse it's going to get. I don't even think he's done his full skincare regimen in days. This stops now." Her sisters slowly nodded in agreement, eyes wide.

Tina gathered a small stack of magazines, a few DVDs, and Kurt's laptop to try and soothe him. She tapped on the door lightly. "Kurt? Honey?" she called through the door. No response.

She pushed open the door and found it would not open all the way. She slipped inside to find wrappers and cartons and Diet Coke cans strewn from one end of the room to the other, piled on every surface, including the bed. In the middle of the bed was a blonde head of hair, covers obscuring the rest of Kurt.

"Sweetheart, it's been twelve days. Please let us help you," Tina pleaded with the part of Kurt that she could see, stroking his hair carefully.

Kurt moaned pitifully and pulled the covers down. His face was blotchy and lacked its usual glow, his eyes were rimmed red and his pajamas were not nearly as clean-pressed as usual, but he was alive.

"Tina, I love him," he said faintly, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his pajama top. Tina sucked in a breath sharply at the gesture, knowing that she had intervened just in time. When Kurt wasn't giving a second thought to his favorite set of silk pajamas, he was past the point of upset.

"I know, I know," she murmured, touching his face carefully. "But we love you, too, you know. This is not the end of the world." Kurt opened his mouth to protest, but she placed a finger to his lips. "I know it feels like it, but it's not."

Tina dropped the pile of goodies she brought into his lap. "Here, I brought you the new _Elle_ and _Cosmo_, plus _Mean Girls_ and every season of _Friends_. And here's your laptop, so you can catch up on the celebrity gossip you've missed. And if all that is still not good enough, you'll just have to hold on because the new _Vogue_ doesn't come out until next week." She tapped Kurt on the nose and a small smile passed over his lips. It left quickly, but it was there. Tina sighed in relief and got up to start stuffing all Kurt's rubbish into a trash bag.

There was a knock on the door. Tina turned to see Mercedes and Brittany tiptoe inside, holding up a fruit tray. "We figured you might want a change of pace from cheesecake," Mercedes explained lightly, sitting down next to Kurt on the bed. Britt, without hesitation, curled up under the covers and snuggled into Kurt, kissing him on the head. She didn't say anything, but his face visibly relaxed and his lips almost curved upward. Tina quietly turned off the soap opera, which had gotten violently loud, and sat on the bed on the other side of Kurt.

"Thanks ladies, really," Kurt said fervently, smiling at each of them in turn. He took a strawberry from the fruit tray as he pushed open his laptop. Tina had already had the foresight to change his background picture so he flinched only a little. She watched him pull up TMZ and eagerly start reading, so she contented herself with running her fingers through his thick hair.

They sat in contentment for a while, Britt keeping a running commentary on the sex lives of the cats belonging to each celebrity, when suddenly Kurt shrieked and jumped up out of the bed, knocking Mercedes to the ground.

"Kurt, what the hell?" she yelled back, rubbing her hip that had slammed into the ground. Kurt waved an apologetic hand toward her but stared at his computer screen with wide eyes.

"It's Sam's brother, it's Evan!" he shrieked again, pointing at the laptop.

"His name is Evan Evans?" Tina said incredulously, pulling the screen where she could see it.

Kurt's hands flapped again, impatiently. "He just got married! He graduated from Yale law in December and just got married to Muffy Vanderbilt, his _classmate_ at Yale!" Tina, Brittany, and Mercedes eyed him warily, wondering where this was going.

"Don't you see!" Kurt waved his hands around incessantly, this time gesturing towards the screen. "This is the kind of boy Sam wants! Someone who's serious, someone lawyerly! Someone who wears black when nobody's dead!" His face was enraptured, and he was looking at the laptop like it was the Holy Grail. Mercedes, Tina, and Brittany exchanged nervous glances.

"Girls, I have a completely brilliant plan!"


	2. What You Want

**Title:** Legality (2/?)

**Rating:** NC-17 _(eventually.)_

**Pairing:** Starting Kurt/Sam, ending Kurt/Blaine. _(I can't tell any more cause that will spoil the fun!)_

**Summary:** AU. Kurt Hummel has it all. He's about to graduate from UCLA summa cum laude with a degree in fashion merchandising, he's been Delta Nu Sorority's Anchor Man Sweetheart for three years straight, and he's just about to get engaged to his dream man Samuel Evans III. Or, so he thinks, until the rug is pulled out from under Kurt and his dreams must change. Harvard Law School will never be the same, and neither will Harvard alum Blaine Anderson. Inspired by Legally Blonde the musical and movie.

**Author's Note:** Watch Legally Blonde: The Musical on Youtube if you haven't! It's amazing!

Once again, eternal gratitude and thanks and cookies and hugs and kisses to my beta **Summer**. Find her on tumblr at **betweenthedimandthedark**. Without her I wouldn't be able to write this, not at all. She fixes my goofs and fills in my plot holes and takes my rambling and makes it beautiful and she's just the best. Period.

You can also find me on tumblr at **fruitflyxo** with questions or comments or general fangirling, I'm down for it all!

**This story is going to end up being at least 20 chapters and it will NOT be identical to (or even closely follow) the musical OR movie so come on board for the ride!**

**Disclaimers:** I am in a sorority but I definitely do not go to UCLA or Harvard. I also do not own any recognizable characters or places or things. I just like to write words on the page.

* * *

Chapter 2: What You Want

* * *

"Sam doesn't really know what he wants. He only knows what his parents want for him! And what they want is a law student, someone serious with a serious future. What if that's me?" Kurt was alternating between yelling in excitement and whispering in reverence as the words spilled out.

Tina and Mercedes looked at each other, silently wondering where Kurt was going with this. Brittany was staring Kurt down, but he took no notice.

Kurt's face was stuck in a frantic, almost scary smile and he looked over at his friends impatiently.

"Don't you see? It's so easy! He's going to Harvard, right? So I'll get in there, too! He'll see that I'm just as smart as he is; that I'm serious, and with the right accessories I look fabulous in black. He'll fall right back in love with me!" Kurt was already typing away at his laptop as he prattled, pulling up the weather in Massachusetts and surfing fashion sites for peacoats and scarves.

Tina exchanged another look with Mercedes. "Kurt," Mercedes began tentatively, then sighed with resignation. She knew better than to try and change Kurt's mind when he was set on an idea. "Honey, if this is what you want, we support you all the way. You know we'll do anything for you that we can."

Kurt looked up from his laptop with a huge grin, waiting for Tina to react. She nodded and smiled, tilting her head in amusement. He slammed his computer closed and bounded off the bed, wrapping Tina and Mercedes into a tight hug.

After a moment he turned around. "Britt? Don't you want in on this?" he laughed, waving her over.

Brittany was sitting up straight on the edge of the bed, hands in her lap.

"No, Kurt, because although I love you and your overabundance of hair and skin products, you need to face the reality of this situation," she calmly replied, giving Kurt a blank look.

Tina felt her mouth fall open. Kurt's eyes got impossibly wide and he stuttered out a "W-what?"

Britt sighed. "Seriously, Kurt, Harvard is an Ivy League school. If you're going to get into Harvard Law you are going to need more than your 4.0 GPA. You need an LSAT score of 174 or higher if you even want them to look at your application, and then you better write the best damn essay you've ever written. If you want your fashion merchandising degree and sorority sweetheart credentials to be taken seriously, if you want _you_ to be taken seriously, it's time to get to work." Brittany hadn't budged from her calm position on the edge of the bed, but Kurt had broken away from Mercedes and Tina and had one fist pressed to his mouth.

Tina moved to touch his shoulder lightly. "You can do this, Kurt. If this is what you really want. You're the strongest, most compassionate and motivated person I know. You can do this."

"And we'll help!" Mercedes added, brushing her hand over his back.

Brittany still had not moved, eyeing Kurt with her lips pursed, waiting. Tina watched Kurt carefully.

Kurt finally dropped his hand and closed his eyes, taking in a deep, shuddering breath. "Yes. I have to do this."

Tina winced at the pain in his voice. She curled her fingers around his shoulder.

"I can't just walk away from someone that I feel this strongly towards," Kurt continued. "I can't give up on something that never really had a chance. I have to try." He spoke directly to Brittany, who narrowed her eyes for a second, then nodded. She slid off the bed and moved to Kurt with a huge smile, tugging him into a hug. After a second she extended her hands and dragged Tina and Mercedes into it, too.

"Good!" Britt said when they finally broke apart, grin still stretched across her face. "You better be _a hundred and ten_ percent committed, because we have a lot of work to do."

Tina looked at Kurt in confusion as Mercedes did the same thing.

"We?" Kurt mouthed hopelessly as Britt tugged him into the bathroom, flipping on the shower and unceremoniously throwing him inside.

She rounded on Mercedes and Tina with sponges and a broom, gesturing towards the mess that was Kurt's room. After a tiny hesitation, Tina caved and took the broom. Anything to make Kurt just a tiny bit happier was something she was willing to do.

The girls worked in silence, restoring the dorm from the junkyard it had become into a living space once again. Mercedes was just gathering all his dirty clothes (although Kurt would kill her if she tried to wash them, she could at least encourage him to do so) when she froze outside the bathroom door.

"Listen!" she hissed at Tina and Britt, who paused in their argument over who had to vacuum the huge area rug.

A soft melody was barely audible over the pounding of water on tile, and Tina had to hold her breath to hear it, but it was there.

"_Who told you you're allowed to rain on my parade?"_

Tina's hand flew to her mouth, tears stinging her eyes. Britt jumped up and down silently, her hands clasped in front of her heart and ponytail bouncing wildly. Mercedes looked in danger of fainting.

"He's back!" Britt said joyously, grabbing the broom and launching into a full-out tap routine.

_He's going to be okay. _ Tina sent up a tiny prayer of thanks and got back to work.

* * *

Kurt was in way over his head, and he knew it. He had spent every waking moment of the last month in class or surrounded by stacks of LSAT prep books. He watched his friends go on dates, take day trips to the beach, watch movies and go out to eat. But he had LSAT problems to do, essay ideas to scrap, and three letters of recommendation to weasel out of the deans and professors from his last four years. All this was before adding in the incredible stress of graduation, the impending cross-country move, and his fatherly duties to one tiny, helpless fur baby.

Kurt adopted Thatcher, a dark short-haired Chihuahua, from a shelter after his first bad breakup in sophomore year. He was immediately drawn to how small and scared he was, how dirty his coat was and how bleary his eyes were. Kurt saw the potential behind the scrawny, malnourished dog, and promptly signed the papers. One look at big chocolate brown eyes and Kurt was in love. Thatcher lived with Kurt at his dad's house, but as Kurt had started almost exclusively living undercover in the Delta Nu house, he was sorely missing his dog.

Kurt was at the crossroads of very big decisions in his life. He often felt like he was caught in a huge storm of indecision and uncertainty, clinging to a bit of driftwood to keep from drowning. He had glimpsed the very distant shore, though, and it was Harvard Law School with Samuel Evans III blowing him kisses from land. At times it seemed like all he could do was hope the current would take him in the right direction.

Tina and Mercedes were true to their word, reading Kurt's essay drafts and debating the merits of recommendations from every professor, but it was Brittany who took Kurt's potential entrance to Harvard Law as a personal crusade.

"Britt, we've been going at this for hours, can we stop now?" Kurt groaned as he threw his pencil in frustration. He and Brittany were in the Delta Nu study room like they had been every weeknight and now _every_ night for weeks, books and papers strewn from one end of the room to the other. He would be taking the LSAT, the one with the score that would be sent off to Harvard Law School, _the school that Sam is going to be attending_, in one week. It was the crunchiest of crunch time, and Kurt knew it.

This night his rays of hope were particularly weak and scarce, as he and Britt were missing Delta Nu's annual formal, the Tickled Pink Ball. Had it been any other circumstances, Kurt would have been with all his friends, halfway to drunk and dancing the night away with each Delta Nu sister in turn, clad in a smart suit and bow tie.

Brittany had unselfishly declined going to the formal in favor of helping Kurt, but Kurt knew it wasn't entirely selfless; Britt was on probation after she was involved in the great Delta Nu Orgy Scandal with the Kappa Phi brothers. The sisters insisted that it was just a case of Facebook status gone horribly wrong, and several sisters had been shamed into quitting because of it. Even so, Kurt didn't doubt for a second that Britt would partake in an orgy. Not that he would look a gift horse in the mouth and tell her that.

To make up for missing his last Delta Nu formal, Tina had let him sneak Thatcher in the house to keep him and Britt company on the last weekend all-nighter before the LSAT. Kurt stroked the ears of the sleeping puppy in his lap as he yawned so widely his jaw cracked.

Kurt took the distraction of Brittany grading his LSAT practice test to sneakily press the button on his phone to check the time. 11:23 pm.

Brittany snatched the iPhone out of his reach, muttering about distractions. She slapped his hand halfheartedly and turned back to her calculator, scribbling down numbers.

Kurt rubbed at his eyes as the page of logic reasoning sample problems blurred in front of him. The long hours and stress were starting to seriously damage his sanity and his skin condition, not to mention his fashion. Kurt plucked distastefully at the sweat pants he was wearing and the old high school tee shirt that was now too short and tight and riding up no matter how often he tugged at the hem, soft and shrunken from too many washings.

He looked up at the wall in front of him, an action that was now reflex, that particular spot a place his eyes had settled on more times than he wanted to count over the last weeks. The painted cement block at his eye level used to be like every other pale blue rectangle that made up the walls of the room. After the fiftieth time Kurt studied the imagined patterns in the pits of that block, he was inspired. Over the past two months, Kurt had added pictures, stickers, pieces of hope and reasons to keep going on this insane drive to achieve the impossible. In the center was his favorite picture of Sam and himself, taken at night on Huntington Beach. Kurt's hair was considerably mussed and Sam's mouth was half open, but they were so at ease, relaxing into each other with an air of intimacy and possessiveness. It was Kurt's biggest reminder that Sam loved him, and he could love him again. Around the picture were scraps of paper with inspirational quotes to tell him that he was not alone, a tiny British flag and a scrap of lace to give him the grace of royalty, a picture of him receiving the Anchor Man award for the third year in a row surrounded by all the sisters of Delta Nu with Brittany, Mercedes, and Tina all kissing his face, to show him that he can do anything with the help of friends. Kurt's own doodles of boots, jackets, and bow ties completed the montage of all the things that brought him joy. They were all the things that made the struggle worthwhile.

Each time he stayed in the study room past one AM, every time Brittany slapped down another LSAT score that wasn't good enough (_142, 157, 165_), the moments that Kurt felt the words forming in his throat to throw in the towel, he looked at the wall. And he knew that all of this was going to be worth it.

Brittany was silent, and Kurt realized as if from a dream that she had been silent for a while. He looked at her in alarm, but she was frozen still. The calculator was in her hand and she was staring at it like it could disintegrate at any moment.

"Britt?" Kurt said softly, reaching for her hand. She mumbled something in response, but it was just gibberish.

"Honey?" he tried again, patting her fingers gently.

"174," she said, this time clear as a bell, and Kurt froze too.

"Oh, my god," he breathed, yanking the pages from her hands to see for himself. His eyes widened impossibly and he looked at Brittany as something like hope bubbled in his chest. Kurt grabbed her into a fierce hug as he let out a long, loud laugh of relief, pride, and outright joy.

"You can do this," Britt said with a smile as he pulled back. Kurt gripped her hands tightly, for the first time believing that he could.

"Oh, my god," he said again, this time to the picture on the wall. "I am going to do this."

* * *

Kurt was dressed in a simple black suit, a pink striped tie at his throat and a dress shirt so pale pink it was nearly white. On the back of the tie was stitched in blue, "To our Anchor, good luck on the East Coast! We'll miss you! Love, Your sisters in ∆N." Kurt smiled as he thumbed the threads that made up the words, shifting his gaze from the full-length mirror to the framed picture on the wall.

Kurt was blurry in the photo, jumping up and down and clutching an envelope with big letters "LSAT" visible in one hand and a sheet of paper in the other. It wasn't planned and it certainly wasn't posed, but Riley had taken the snapshot with her phone and Kurt loved it.

_He decided to do it in the chapter room of the Delta Nu house because he couldn't open the envelope without the girls that had made it possible. As soon as they gathered around, he tore open the packet, holding the paper to his chest without looking at it._

"_One…" said Tina, smiling._

"_Two." Mercedes was trembling with excitement._

"_Three," Brittany said right in Kurt's ear from where she had his bicep in a vice grip._

_Before he could overthink he looked at the page. In the instant it took for written word to become coherent thought, Kurt felt like he was floating. And then, his feet slammed into the ground._

_His mouth formed the words without any sound. He cleared his throat and tried again._

"_175."_

_And when the room exploded around him with screams, Kurt joined in._

Next to the picture was a framed letter than had arrived April 27th, just two weeks before his graduation from UCLA. This one he did not open with such fanfare, because it was not just an envelope. It was a packet, weighty with forms to fill out and return and materials to read and knowledge to store. Rejection letters don't come in packets.

_Kurt convinced his dad and his dearest friends to let him cook them dinner that Friday night. It was almost like he was in high school again, when his dad would give the cook the night off and Kurt would help him make something that came out of a box and they would pretend that in their big, industrial kitchen in their big Malibu house they were just like any other family._

_He insisted that it wait until after they ate homemade tacos, though Burt and Mercedes nagged him all through dinner to just tell them. They needed to know. Kurt kept his lips shut and curved into a smile. As he brought out a tray with five bowls of raspberry sorbet and five silver spoons, he told them. He thumped the tray onto the table, pulled the cover letter from the packet out of his pocket, and simply said, "I got in." Dessert was forgotten as Burt wrapped Kurt in a huge bear hug, the rest of his family close behind._

Kurt ran his fingers over the picture frame.

_Mr. Kurt Hummel, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into Harvard University's School of Law…_

The last part of his newest installment of pictures was posed. He was surrounded by Delta Nus and clutching a plaque that featured his name on it four times in a row on four separate metal plates. The previous year he had been the first person to be Anchor Man three consecutive times, and this year he was the first ever to hold the title for four years.

The sisters had turned the ceremony into a surprise party because Kurt had missed the Tickled Pink Ball when they usually gave the award. He had come dressed in a suit per Tina's orders, but he hadn't expected to find the whole chapter there in ball gowns and big hair, ready to recreate the special night he had missed. The night was filled with a lot of tears on Kurt's part but a lot of dancing and singing as well. It was a perfect night with the girls that had become his sisters, one last night of fun to cling to when he inevitably had to leave them behind.

It certainly wasn't the first picture he had taken with the girls, but at the time he knew it would be one of the last. Every single sister had insisted on piling into the shot until each head on the 8x10 was no bigger than a fingernail, and in the center Kurt shone with happiness and pride and tears.

Kurt had to force his eyes away from the picture as a tear threatened to slip out at the memory.

Thanks to Britt's cracking of the whip, strategic brown nosing, and a lot of sleepless nights, Kurt had kept his 4.0 to the very end. Kurt slipped on his black robe and the summa cum laude sash, adding his ropes from honor societies, his medals from singing competitions, and his four gold Anchor Man pins. The weight was uncomfortable at first, but touching each tiny symbol of his accomplishments made Kurt glow from the inside out. He had done it. He had survived the hell of high school and _thrived_ in college. He had followed the major that he wanted to follow, auditioned for college show choir, and befriended a whole sorority because that's what Kurt wanted. He had designed three collections worth of clothes, and been featured in two fashion shows because of his own hard work. And now he could celebrate his achievements with his friends, his family, and his peers. It was a momentous day in the life of Kurt Hummel, a dream he was suddenly getting to live.

Kurt turned to leave when his eye caught the picture from Huntington Beach, the entire wall collage having been relocated from the Delta Nu study room to his hanging bulletin board. With trembling fingers he plucked the picture from the wall, studying his face and the face of the man he was moving across the country to pursue. It was a year ago, shy of just a few weeks, that the picture was taken.

Kurt looked up to his bookcase where a timeline of photos was displayed, starting at birth, stretching through elementary school portraits to high school snapshots to university accomplishments and landing squarely back at his own reflection in the full length mirror. He pinned the picture of Sam back onto the board.

_You've come a long way, Kurt Elizabeth Hummel. No turning back now._

His mortarboard was on the table by his bedroom door. Kurt had spent weeks agonizing over what to decorate it with, what was going to truly represent his mark on the world. He settled on first covering the surface with scraps of fabric from clothes that held a lot of meaning for him. He was only a little sad as he cut squares from the button-down he was wearing the day he first met Mercedes, the messenger bag he carried to his first college class, the tie from his first Delta Nu formal, a pair of soft grey canvas Keds he wore the soles off of in sophomore year, a sweater he designed that was in his first fashion show. Each one was a little reminder of four years of bliss that at age sixteen he would not have dared to dream about. Unable to resist, Kurt autographed over the collage of fabric in thick black Sharpie like he signed all his sketches, showing his ownership in piecing together a brilliant design.

The cap stayed like that for days but lingered in the back of his mind, nagging and unfinished, until Kurt figured out what was missing. He added the Harvard logo over the fabric, small enough to add and not detract from the overall look but big enough for the effect to resound in Kurt. He was really going to Harvard, he was going to Sam. He was going to Massachusetts. Kurt took the Sharpie and wrote inside of the hat, a way that he could know and feel the strength of the words but that they couldn't be judged by anyone else.

"_For a gallant spirit, there can never be defeat." ~Wallis Simpson_

Kurt picked up the mortarboard as his father knocked on his door softly. Kurt opened it dramatically, immediately going into a rant on a schedule to keep and Los Angeles traffic. Burt just shook his head in a tired sort of way, like he had heard this way too many times, and moved into the room to sit on the end of his precisely-made bed. Kurt quirked an eyebrow curiously, but followed suit.

"Kurt, buddy," Burt began, taking one of Kurt's hands in both of his own, staring at them like they could disappear at any moment.

Kurt waited for him to continue, but he seemed to be at a loss. "Dad," he said gently, "You know we're going to be late and you won't get a good seat—"

"Son," Burt stopped Kurt in his tracks as he lifted his head to reveal eyes shiny and bright. Kurt's next words caught in his throat. "Son, I just wanted to tell you how proud of you I am, how proud of you your mother would be. You've worked so hard to get to this day and I can't wait to see you cross that stage. I know after the accident and the move you were so unsure. I remember hearing you cry every night during junior high."

Kurt blushed a bit at the memory, cursing the thin walls of their first Malibu home. He really hadn't cried himself to sleep every night, just the nights when the loneliness hit him the hardest. By high school he had learned to deal with it through frosty haughtiness. Burt laughed off Kurt's embarrassment, adjusting his ever-present baseball cap that no amount of pleading or bargaining on Kurt's part could banish.

"But none of that matters anymore, because look at you! You're graduating with honors, you're going to Harvard Law School for Pete's sake. I don't know what half of the damn things you've got on stand for, but I know what they mean. Today, Kurt Hummel has _won_." Kurt beamed up at his dad, swiping away the tears that he couldn't stop from falling. It filled him with a special kind of warmth to know that he made his dad proud, a sensation that he couldn't get any other way. It pricked his eyes with tears and made him lightheaded and made Kurt proud of himself, too.

He looked down at the mortarboard still clutched in his hand to break the intensity of the moment, and the delight he had been reveling in became soured by a deep twinge of guilt. His father had not pressed him about his sudden, intense need to go to Harvard; he had only been perfectly supportive and happy when Kurt met his goals. He deserved an explanation.

"Dad, about Harvard," Kurt began, still staring at his cap. Burt shifted, crossing his arms. He didn't say anything, so Kurt took that as a good sign. "I'm not going there because of a sudden need to defend humanity or anything. I'm not even sure if why I'm going makes sense or is socially acceptable, but you have to know, Dad, that it's the only way." Kurt sought out Burt's eyes, looking for signs of disapproval. He found only open attentiveness.

"You probably already figured it out, anyways." Kurt gave a nervous laugh, one harsh syllable. "When Sam broke up with me, he told me it was because his parents wanted him to be with someone serious, someone with a solid future. He's going to Harvard in the fall, and what was I going to do? Sit back here in California, intern at a fashion house, doodle in my spare time and sing in the shower. I don't know what to do with myself, what to do with my life! I just know that I can't let Sam walk away from me without finding out what could have happened between us. I know this is probably an expensive, insane way to do that, but there really is no other way."

Burt had dropped his folded arms at Kurt's speech, instead gripping his son's shoulder tightly. Some of the unease in Kurt's stomach melted away at the look of understanding in his father's eyes.

"Well, I can't disagree that it's expensive. And it might be a little crazy," Burt consented, his lips tugging up to show he was joking. "But Kurt, if this is what you need to do, go do it. The only way to move forward in life is to know where you've been, to know what you did wrong and how to learn from those mistakes. If you have to go to Massachusetts to find the answers to all these what-ifs, then go. I support you a hundred percent."

Kurt could not believe what he was hearing. He broke into a huge smile as he lunged forward, grabbing his father in a hug.

"And, since I've got all this stupid money sitting around, I'll pay for it too," Burt said carelessly, but Kurt held to the words like they were a lifeline.

"Seriously?" Kurt pulled back to look Burt in the face.

"Anything for you, Kurt. You're so special, buddy. You're really going places."

Kurt was really crying now, and he grabbed tissues off the table to try and stop the flow before his face got blotchy and his eyes puffy and red. "Thank you, so much," he choked out with a shaky smile.

"Now, let's go get you that diploma!" Burt clapped him on the shoulder once more and stood, headed for the door.

Kurt paused to take one last look at himself in the mirror. A young man stood in a flimsy black robe, clutching a colorful flat hat. His face was admittedly a bit blotchy, but his hair was impeccable. _That is, until I put on the cap._ More than anything, the man was happy, determined, confident. He glanced at the pictures of the people he loved once more. _I can do anything._ He walked out of the room, but left the door open, a silent invitation to escape in the safety of home.

* * *

**A/N:** I know you might have a lot of questions. They will all be answered in time, rest assured. Also, Kurt was singing "Don't Rain on my Parade" from _Funny Girl_. (Of course)


	3. Harvard Variations

**Note from Bee:** Watch Legally Blonde: The Musical on Youtube. Do it. Now.

My beta Summer (tumblr: **betweenthedimandthedark**) is incredible, exceptional, outstanding, the best. She deserves all the gratitude and cookies in the world. Without her, this story is nothing. I bow down at her awesomeness.

This one's for Annie over at **flerdyblerb**, who is so sweet and a huge encouragement! Thank you dear!

And don't forget to find me on tumblr at **fruitflyxo**!

BLAINE'S HERE BLAINE'S HERE kfhgsdfsghjdasld;kasd _(finally!)_ GET EXCITED :)

So without further ado, here is almost 8,000 words of Chapter 3 because I love you!

* * *

Chapter 3: Harvard Variations

* * *

Kurt's GPS said he would arrive at the stately red brick apartments of Blackbird Villa, within view of the hallowed halls of Harvard University, in one-point-six miles. The nervous energy that kept his stomach in knots and his heart in a vice grip started to manifest itself in the outside world, making Kurt tap the steering wheel incessantly and squeeze Thatcher much more tightly than necessary. When the tiny dog gave a pathetic yelp from where he crouched in his lap, Kurt came to his senses and tried to relax. What was he so worked up for anyway? It's not like Sam was going to be there helping him unpack. Through a fair amount of Facebook stalking and mutual friend snooping Kurt had taken great lengths to make sure that he wasn't living anywhere near Sam. He knew that to get Sam back he was going to have to carefully calculate all his appearances and make good on the promise to himself that Sam was only allowed to see him at his best.

More than anything, Kurt needed just a little bit of time to himself to process the enormous change. The tearful good-byes to his father and his best friends were still fresh in his mind, and the last glimpse of the city that had been his home for so long still lingered. No matter where he looked, those bittersweet final moments superimposed themselves over everything. He was still confident that this was what he wanted, but he needed time to adjust, to rearrange and realign himself with this new reality.

"You have reached your destination," Kurt's GPS intoned as he turned into the apartment complex.

"Thanks, Jeeves," he replied like he always did, reaching to turn the navigation system off. He shoved the gearshift into park, took a deep fortifying breath, and allowed himself to look around. The apartments were only two stories high, designed to look historic so as to fit in with the collegiate atmosphere. Behind the main clubhouse was a huge resort pool flanked by dozens of lounge chairs. The ten resident buildings were arranged around the pool deck with parking lots in-between, each with two double apartments on the first floor and four single apartments on the second floor.

The complex wasn't like UCLA's Sorority Row, and it certainly wasn't like the Malibu mansion in which he had never really felt at home. It wasn't even like the apartments near UCLA, where students lived right next to families and business people. These were exclusively for Harvard students and recent alumni, and if the monthly rates were any indication, only the wealthiest of those. Kurt had fought his dad for weeks on where he would live, but Burt insisted that he be in an exclusive gated community. Now that he was staring at the apartments, Kurt only felt a tiny residual twinge of resentment at the price; he was too filled with awe and excitement at the beauty of the buildings, of which pictures had done no justice.

Kurt grabbed Thatcher and the cardboard box in his passenger seat as the moving truck that had been following him pulled into the parking spot to the right of his car. He set the box on the hood of his car and dug around inside it, extracting a clipboard with a stack of printed paper clipped securely onto it, the top sheet emblazoned with "Moving Van" and a long list of items. Kurt settled Thatcher into the crook of one elbow so he could put a checkmark through the endless series of squares on the page as the group of men lugged each box and piece of furniture up the staircase.

"Apartment 223!" he called blissfully as the first trip of cargo passed by him. The men grunted in response and Kurt beamed from behind his sunglasses, checking boxes as they went.

* * *

Blaine Anderson was desperate to leave his apartment for Harvard's on-campus recreation center and its entire room of punching bags. He had just gotten off the phone with his father and his head was pounding, his fists clenching and his vision tilting dangerously. Blaine was _pissed_ and if he didn't find an outlet soon he was going to scream and there would be another hole in the wall to fix.

He rushed out, patted his pockets for his Harvard alumni ID and keys, made sure the door was locked, and whirled around, intent on jogging downstairs and down the street to get warmed up. Those plans were foiled when he started for the stairs. Blaine stopped short, gaping senselessly at the flurry of motion below him. In the parking lot of Building 2, the one right across from Blaine's own Building 3, a huge Ryder truck was being unloaded by a team of four beefy workers, trendy furniture and endless boxes parading upstairs to an open apartment door.

Quite a crowd had gathered in the parking lot at a safe distance from the moving truck and the small blue car that was parked next to it. There were more onlookers peeking out of windows and perched on the balconies. Blaine recognized a few of the faces from his years of living in the complex, but he couldn't recall any of their names. They clumped together, staring unabashedly at the moving van and its contents and gossiping openly with raised eyebrows and smug smiles. Blaine's hands were clenching again, a hot surge of renewed anger and sudden protectiveness thrumming through him. Who were they to judge someone without meeting them first, without knowing the first thing about them?

_It would do no good, it would solve nothing, it would do no good,_ he chanted, closing his eyes to try and push away the irritation that was making him itch to act, prickling hotly from the back of his neck down to the backs of his knees. He clutched his boxing gloves tightly to keep his hands occupied, desperately trying to divert himself from ire.

His usual mantra failing to calm him, Blaine opened his eyes. At least he was away from the breakable sheetrock walls, and even all worked up he wasn't foolish enough to punch brick. He stared, unseeing, at the parking lot, trying to block out the sneering bystanders and get a grip on his emotion. Like from a dream he realized that he was watching the progress of a heavy dark wood dresser that two men were attempting to carry, and just like that the angry haze that clouded his view was shattered by intense curiosity.

_In fact…_ The idea suddenly struck that maybe he could he guess the type of person moving in just from what was in the moving van. With sudden sharp clarity, Blaine took mental stock of the items being moved from truck to apartment. A queen-size mattress that looked like memory foam, so the resident was at least partly high-maintenance. No less than ten hanging wardrobe boxes and a dozen more boxes labeled CLOTHES, so the person must care a lot about fashion or appearances, or both. The furniture exuded modern and traditional style simultaneously, each piece in shades of navy and grey, all carrying an air of luxury. Blaine decided the resident must have an impeccable eye for decorating.

He couldn't stop himself from imagining the person who was moving into the apartment, his mind conjuring every minute detail out of the smallest things. His tenth version of the resident in question was his favorite; this one a short Korean young woman adopted at birth by a loving, rich white family in the Midwest. She had graduated top of her class from high school, had astronomical test scores, and she was moving to Harvard fresh from a summer volunteering in Chicago to work with underprivileged kids. All this he had gleaned from a silvery metal floor lamp. Blaine hummed a little to himself, remembering his first days on his own at college.

The distraction allowed him to release his death grip and temporarily forget about the judgmental crowd. He remembered vaguely that he had been intent on going somewhere before he got sidetracked. His leg muscles unclenched from rage and worked stiffly, haltingly remembering how to move as a unit instead of holding Blaine in one place. _Fight_ was Blaine's natural response to adrenaline, so it took his body a moment to find the proper actions behind _flight_.

He was so engrossed in the items being moved and the mental game he was playing that Blaine almost missed the man orchestrating the move. He managed to make it down half a flight of the outside stairs before he finally saw, coming to a dead halt on the landing. In all his musings, he had never considered the fact that he didn't have to wonder about who lived there, he could _know_.

A fifth figure, one Blaine had not seen before, emerged from the Ryder truck and stepped easily down the ramp and into full view. Impeccably dressed, wielding a pink and blue clipboard in one hand and a small dark brown dog in the other, was the most beautiful man Blaine had ever seen. Blaine sucked in a sharp breath as by chance the man turned to face him fully, drinking in hungrily his flawless creamy skin, his effortless style, his blonde hair that picked up bright copper highlights in the slanting sunlight. Blaine suspected he was drooling, but couldn't find the will to be embarrassed. The man was oblivious to Blaine's presence, flitting about as he followed the final load of boxes up the stairs to his apartment. He placed the dog into the room and turned, and for one wild second Blaine felt their eyes connect and his heart jumped to his throat as an unfamiliar kind of warmth, heavy and sweet, spread all the way to his toes. The man kept turning though, surveying the area for stray boxes. With a nod and one final check mark on the clipboard, the man disappeared inside the apartment.

_223._ Blaine committed the numbers on the closed door to memory before he could start thinking about the implications of the action. He stood transfixed for a moment more, and then shook his head violently to clear it. He picked up the gloves that had slipped through his fingers at some point and headed to the gym, thoughts of the ethereal man still lingering long after he walked away.

* * *

As soon as Kurt put Thatcher down in the new apartment the dog quickly ran to sniff every corner of every room. Kurt smiled fondly at the creature, a little piece of familiarity in this strange new land. He set up his personalized food and water bowls in the corner of the one-man kitchen, filling them both. If Thatcher was comfortable in his new home, Kurt could be, too.

When that small task was accomplished, he straightened up wearily, surveying the piles of boxes and the haphazardly placed furniture. It was going to take him the better part of the weekend to get the four rooms of his apartment in order, but he was up to the challenge. He took the top page on his clipboard, the checklist of items in the moving van, and slipped it neatly to the back of the stack. The next page was his carefully constructed plan for effective decorating, made with the help of blueprints and a virtual tour of his apartment, both of which he had found online. Kurt Hummel was nothing if not resourceful.

His plan was simple. First, unpack and hang wall decorations. Next, place furniture, put away clothes, and stock the kitchen cupboards with dishes and silverware. Finally, arrange the seven boxes worth of knickknacks, decorative accents, and throw pillows. He could do this.

Kurt plugged in the iPod dock that he had kept separately in his car just for this purpose and turned on the playlist he had entitled "Moving In." Kurt knew he was going completely crazy and more than a little obsessive-compulsive, even more so than usual. He knew that micromanaging every facet of his life in Massachusetts was not going to be useful or even possible in the long run. But, if he could just keep it together, if Kurt could keep calm and radiate maturity, intellect, and sincerity, he could be back in Sam's warm arms before the bitter New England winter set in.

First, move in. Then, make sure that Sam would be helping him move out in no time.

* * *

Blaine tugged on his favorite pair of ratty sweatpants after his post-workout shower, rubbing a towel through his hair roughly. He exhaled noisily as he sat roughly on the couch, thinking of the long evening ahead of him. It would be just another Friday night of nothing but Blaine, black coffee, and his piano, maybe a bad eighties movie or two. He pulled his laptop closer, intent on picking something from Netflix, when the bookmarks toolbar of his internet browser caught his eye.

"Shit," he muttered as he clicked on the button marked _Harvard Campus Mail_. It had been weeks since he checked for new emails from Harvard, having gotten out of the habit over the summer.

_Ten new emails_. Five from clubs Blaine wasn't a part of, four general announcements about campus power outages and dining hall hours, and one email that would change everything.

**To: Blaine Anderson **_**(banderson1765)**_

**From: Dean of Academic Affairs, Harvard University**

**Subject: Fall Focus Group Leader Position**

_Mr. Anderson,_

_As you know, Harvard University is implementing a new program this fall in order to encourage academic success, peer relationships, and student retention rates. These Focus Groups, consisting of four new students and one third year or higher student will have at least one class together, participate in study groups, and have an online group for open communication._

_Harvard Law School had more late admittances than usual this year, and though you are a graduate of Harvard Law, we could find no better candidate to head up our last Focus Group for first-year Harvard students pursuing a graduate degree in law. _

_Check your campus email often for more instructions as we develop this exciting new part of student life at Harvard._

_Please contact your group by their campus email addresses, listed below, by Saturday, August 27. _

Blaine ran a hand over his face as his mind raced, desperately trying to find the loophole in the situation. Knowing Harvard like he intimately did, there was none. He sighed again, this time with resignation. The added responsibility of four students' future Harvard success was the farthest thing from what he needed in his life.

He glanced at the date in the corner of his computer screen to make certain, but he knew he hadn't missed the deadline yet. He still had a few more hours until Saturday, and then just two more days until classes began on Monday. He copied the addresses at the bottom of the email and pasted them into a new blank message, his fingers hesitating over the keys. What to say to his forced protégés?

* * *

**To: Michael Chang **_**(mchang2864),**_** Kurt Hummel _(_khummel**_**3478),**_** Santana Lopez **_**(slopez7654),**_** Hillary Morgan **_**(hmorgan7754)**_

**From: Blaine Anderson **

**Subject: Fall Focus Group (Don't ignore this, even though you want to.)**

_Hey guys and gals!_

_If you've been keeping up with your emails you know that Harvard is implementing a new campus-wide program this fall in which every new Harvard student gets grouped up with an older student in order to better equip him or her for success._

_As of now you four are a Focus Group, and I'm your leader. My name's Blaine, and I'm really pleased to have the opportunity to meet and get to know each of you. I have experienced just about anything and everything that Harvard Law has to throw at a freshman, so I am here to help in any way I can._

_Not unintentionally, we all have Criminal Law with Professor Smythe Monday at 11:15. I hope to see you all in the corner of the quad closest to Pennington Hall at 10:30, and then we can go to lecture together. I'll be the one with dark hair, red bowtie, and box of donuts. Bring your own coffee._

* * *

Kurt threw the last cardboard box over the railing of the second floor of the apartment building, smiling in satisfaction when it landed squarely into the dumpster below. He brushed his hands together delicately, basking in his deep sense of accomplishment. It had taken nearly two whole days of hard work, but his apartment was in perfect order.

Thatcher greeted him with his silly panting smile as Kurt shut the door firmly. He made soft noises of adoration as he picked up the dog, allowing two quick licks to his cheek, and surveyed the living area. At first it was only with a critical eye, judging the placement of vases, the straightness of hangings, the angle of furniture. Only when his eyes landed on his parting gift from Delta Nu, an engraved silver ice bucket, did the image soften to something almost sentimental.

He ran a hand gently along the back of sofa, caressed the books lining the shelves, and touched each picture hanging on the wall fondly. For better or for worse this was his home now, even if it was in Cambridge, Massachusetts. This was his mirror to peer into every morning, and this was his bowl to drop his keys into every night. This was the kitchen he would bake cookies in and the living room in which he would entertain friends; _new_ friends, friends who went to law school and vacationed in Martha's Vineyard since birth and had trust funds worth more than Kurt could imagine earning in a lifetime.

It was almost time for dinner, and his stomach was growling insistently, but Kurt couldn't wait any longer. He texted _Skype?_ to Tina and pulled his laptop out from its travel case, placing it carefully on the glass inset of the coffee table after shoving aside a stack of coasters and a book on interior design.

When the computer booted up, it logged into Skype automatically. Kurt smiled to see that Tina was already online and waiting for him. Before he could click the call button the music and logo appeared to declare that Tina was calling him. A quick glance at the time confirmed that the Delta Nu girls would have just finished their twice-a-month Sunday social luncheons. Kurt couldn't stop from squirming a little in excitement. The three agonizing days he had just spent without Mercedes, Tina, Brittany, or any of the sisters had been the longest he'd gone without them since they met.

When he clicked answer, the sight that greeted him was all that he hoped for and more. Over half the chapter was gathered in the shot, Tina, Cedes, and Britt in the middle, all of the girls focused on the screen. Kurt saw himself reflected in his tiny on-screen square, watched his own mouth fall open in shock, hand flying to his chest to try and contain the sudden insistent ache of loss. Tears sprang to his eyes as they all called out greetings, huge smiles and waves making the screen dance with their easy joy. A deep pang of longing punctuated every word he exchanged with the girls, his best friends, his _sisters_.

He told the Delta Nu sisters how much he missed them. He picked up his laptop to give a little tour of the apartment, especially highlighting the motifs of anchors, every shade of blue, and unexpected smatterings of pink that repeated throughout his decor. More than anything, though, he was content to bask in the excess of their affection for each other, the way they talked and laughed and loved so easily when they were together. He longed to be back in the circle of their embrace, but being on the outside just reminded him of how much he had come to depend on their acceptance. If he was going to prove that he was worthy of serious attention from Samuel, it was time to stand on his own two feet.

One by one, the girls wandered out of the field of view until only Mercedes, Tina, and Brittany's legs were left. Mercedes reached up to tug Britt back down into the frame, and then the three of them leaned in at the same time. Kurt laughed a little at their unconscious mirroring, despite the fresh tears it brought. He knew that the separation from them was going to be nearly unbearable, but knowing and experiencing were two very different things.

"How _are_ you, sweetheart?" Tina beseeched him, her hand moving forward even though Kurt's was not there to grasp.

"Well, it's a lot cooler here. A lot less humid, too, so that's nice. That makes it much easier to wrangle my hair. Everyone here is pale, so my natural hue is much more common here. Thank god I can stop my biweekly spray tans." The girls giggled and Kurt smiled fondly.

"I'm not sure how I feel now, though," he continued. "I've spent the entire weekend holed up in this apartment with Thatcher, only leaving for takeout and coffee." At his name, Thatcher jumped into Kurt's lap and the girls on the other side of the country cooed at his appearance. Kurt stroked his ears thoughtfully. "It paid off of course, because the place looks fabulous, but I'm not sure how to go about meeting people. At UCLA, once I met Mercedes, it all just kind of fell into place," Kurt admitted, giving a sad little smile.

"Kurt, you're the most awesome, most blonde, most kick ass Anchor Man I know. Just go out there and show those Harvard snobs how we do it in Cali!" Britt offered, fist pumping and finishing with a _whoop!_ Kurt raised his eyebrows, expecting Tina and Cedes to take care of her for him.

Tina surprised him first. "She's kind of right, Kurt. Just be yourself! That's why I love you. That's why we all love you." Kurt didn't know how to argue with that, though he wanted to. He didn't want to change himself per say, but he did want to make the right impression.

"I guess that's as good of a plan as any," Kurt conceded, "but I have to make sure, above all, that Sam loves me. Impressing him is really what I'm worried about." He avoided his friends' gazes, playing with Thatcher's ears though the puppy had fallen asleep.

"Kurt," Mercedes' voice was soft and Kurt had to close his eyes against the rush of homesickness that tore through him, a small sob sticking in his throat. "Kurt, you're fabulous. You're strong and you know who you are, you've been through hell and you came out on the other side better than ever. You can do this. Harvard Law is not going to know what hit it."

The dead weight of anxiety didn't budge from its home in Kurt's gut, but he found himself flashing a real smile back at Mercedes. If he couldn't have his best friends at his side, at least he could wrap a little bit of their love around him.

"Thanks Mercedes, really. I love you guys, so much, and I miss you every second. Being on my own, being way out here where everything is new and I'm just a little bitty fish in this big old pond… I don't know how to exist here yet." It was so difficult to put into words how he was feeling, to explain the unease and the anticipation. He couldn't stop thinking about fairytales from his childhood, Goldilocks trying to balance _too much_ and _too little_ and find _just right_.

Tina nodded like she understood exactly what he meant even when he didn't quite know. And, if this situation was like a thousand before, she knew perfectly.

"Well, Kurt Hummel, there's something you always taught me." Tina had a sly look on her face, one that Kurt rarely saw. He tilted his head in question.

"When life is uncertain, fashion never is."

* * *

Blaine had no idea what to wear. A fashion crisis was quite a stupid problem to have, honestly. Did it really matter so much? For some reason that Blaine could not pinpoint, his outfit mattered very much. He felt like he was a child again, needing his mom to come into his room the night before the first day of school to pick out his outfit. By the sixth grade he was trusted enough to pick out his own everyday clothes, but the first day of school was always his mother's territory. He almost picked up the phone and called her.

With his thumb hovered over his mother's name in his phone contacts Blaine came to his senses, forcibly stopping himself by flinging his phone away. He let out a frustrated growl, disgusted at his own apprehension. He hadn't been this nervous opening his acceptance letter from Harvard, on his first day of law school, or when he delivered the welcome address at his graduation three months before. Worst of all, he couldn't even pinpoint the source of his anxiety. Was it the classroom of freshman he would have to lecture, the four understudies he was about to acquire, or just the thought of extended alone time with Professor Smythe?

Regardless of the reason, he knew he had to get over the pointless fear that was paralyzing him. He took a deep breath and started again on his wardrobe, trying to clear his mind. _When in doubt, bow tie first_. He picked his favorite red patterned tie and went from there.

* * *

Blaine shook out the awful woven throw blanket his mother had given him one year for Christmas to lay it evenly on the dry grass of the quad. He smiled wryly at the pattern as he smoothed out each corner.

"_But Blaine, you love cats! Don't you remember Mr. Spiffy?" _Claire Anderson had insisted, pushing the tapestry of smiling tabbies at him insistently. Blaine, being the perfect son he was, didn't mention that Mr. Spiffy had died from malnutrition three days after Blaine dragged him out of the gutter. He also neglected the simple fact that he didn't need or want a throw blanket featuring any kind of mammal, domesticated feline or otherwise.

His parents would not admit defeat in the category of knowing who their youngest son was, no matter how many times they fell short.

He spared a glance at his watch again, confirming that he was right on schedule. Carefully he set the Dunkin' Donuts box at a precise angle then sat himself in the corner of the blanket, trying to look as casual as possible despite the giddy wobbly feeling in his stomach. To keep his hands busy he flipped through the yellow legal pad where he had scribbled his talking points, pulling the pen from behind his ear to add a note. He quickly regressed into aimless doodling, coffee cups and bow ties and small brown dogs and perfect blonde hair…

"Oh my god, I don't know whether to call your look Twenty-Something Toddler or Early Geriatric."

Blaine startled so violently that his pen and pad slipped sideways off his lap. His heart was skipping erratically and his palms were instantly slick with sweat. He had to reassure himself that he was safe, that now he could face whatever tormentors threw at him. When he looked up he almost laughed out loud at his own irrational response. The young Latina woman standing in front of him would have struck him as very pretty if she hadn't been sporting the most judgmental, bitchy look Blaine had ever seen.

More than anything he wanted to sass her right back for a taste of her own medicine, but as always happened in those situations, Blaine remembered his place. His jangled nerves ebbed just a bit, not gone, but smoothed over. The racing of his heart slowed and his body relaxed; he broke into a confident grin, ready to set others at ease. After a moment of vulnerability, Blaine was squarely back within the realm of mentor and authority.

"You must be Santana Lopez. Welcome to Harvard, I'm Blaine Anderson. It's very nice to meet you." He kept his voice even, his flawless demeanor friendly and winning.

It was a testament to years of practice that his smile did not change when her face crumpled into a look of dissatisfied disbelief.

* * *

Kurt was going to be late. No matter how much prior planning had gone into the day, even he could not avoid a ripped seam, a broken zipper, puppy puke, or broken glass.

Everything was finally in order, messenger bag slung over one shoulder and Sam's favorite purple fedora jauntily angled, when he spotted Thatcher's empty food and water bowls.

Kurt threw up his hands in frustration, a primal scream burning to rip its way out of his throat. He stopped when he remembered his poor, sick puppy curled up on the tiny blue bed next to his own queen-sized one. It wasn't Thatcher's fault that his day was starting so horribly, but he had to find a nonfat mocha _pronto_, and he had that stupid focus group thing, and then classes to find and survive, and then there was _Sam_— Immediately his eyes found the collage from his days of cramming in the Delta Nu study room, now framed and hanging on the wall of his entryway. It was a reassuring action that was nearly reflexive already.

He would just be fashionably late. Luckily, dramatic entrances were always appropriate, and it wouldn't be the first time. He grabbed Thatcher's bowls, giving himself two minutes before he absolutely had to leave.

* * *

Blaine listened idly to the chatter of his little focus group, letting the words hit him without soaking up a bit of their meaning. Though he and Santana had gotten off to a rough start, she backed off a bit with donut placation and he found that she was quite intriguing. Mike and Hillary were great, too, good attitudes but a little lost. He tried not to look at his watch again, but in ten seconds this Kurt Hummel was going to be officially—

"Here! I'm here!" a clear voice rang out somewhere behind Blaine, the sound resonating hundredfold between his ears. He was struck with a sudden spike of something like fear as he turned around.

Kurt Hummel was tall, so tall Blaine would have to crane his neck back painfully to try and see his face. He was also wearing the tightest purple jeans that Blaine had ever seen. He could feel his own eyes bugging out of his head as he tried to take in all of him at once, tripping and lingering over his narrow waist, sculpted forearms crossed over his chest, set mouth and questioning eyes. _Oh._ Blaine struggled for something to say and tried to slip back into his professional suavity, but something had thrown a hitch into the usual automatic process. And that something was returning Blaine's intent gaze.

Blaine squirmed internally, suddenly feeling silly in his red-and-white polka-dot bow tie and nautical collared shirt and sweater. He couldn't stop Santana's sneer from popping into his head, her voice now joining the choir of insecurities that ran through his head at all times. Did he really dress like a grandpa?

Dimly he heard a throat clearing, and it took a second for him to realize it was Mike. His unashamed ogling of Kurt had gotten the attention of the rest of the focus group. He clung desperately to his professionalism, praying that he could also hold on to some sanity and control.

"You must be Kurt," he said finally, scrambling to his feet to proposition his hand. And _oh_, okay, his face was even nicer than his arms. Actually it was _much_ nicer, and that was saying something as his arms were incredibly, exceptionally nice.

"Yes, I'm Kurt Hummel," he confirmed. Kurt took the offer and shook firmly, the smile on his face now much less amused and more pleased. Blaine breathed a little easier with his outward appearance intact. He gestured to the open spot on the blanket, nearly directly across from himself, and tried not to panic. He could make it through these forty-five minutes of distractingly tight clothes and extremely pretty face without making a fool of himself. He had to.

"Welcome, everyone, to Harvard Law School! As you already know, I'm Blaine Anderson, your Fall Focus Group leader. We are going to be spending a lot of time together this semester studying, socializing, and surviving your first months at Harvard. At least, that's what the pamphlet said, right?" Mike and Hillary laughed appreciatively, making him pause. He smiled widely in gratitude, but even so, he couldn't ignore the flash of hurt when Santana rolled her eyes and Kurt was more interested in his iPhone.

Blaine decided to press on. "So, because we're going to be seeing each other a lot, I decided we could start by talking a little bit about yourselves, like your name, where you come from, why you're here. And to give you time to think, I'll go first.

"I'm originally from Westerville, Ohio, but my family moved to Boston when I was 15 years old. I got my undergraduate degree in political science from NYU and I graduated with honors from Harvard Law last year."

"Then why the hell are you still here?"

Blaine closed his eyes in an effort to retain control. It seemed Santana was going to challenge his patience no matter what he did.

"Professor Smythe keeps one former student on as his assistant every year, mostly to help in his freshman-level classes. I will be in his section of Criminal Law that all of you are scheduled to take. This is especially helpful for each of you, because I know what it takes to not only survive but _graduate_ from Harvard Law. Now, who's next?"

He called on Santana to introduce herself first, since she seemed to have the most to say. No matter what he did, whether he counted the times she slipped in Spanish or the number of insults she effortlessly laced into her speech, his eyes and mind would wander. Blaine found himself staring at the blonde tendrils peeking out from under Kurt's fedora, feeling a tug in the back of his mind, the pang of trying to remember. There was something so familiar about Kurt, but he couldn't quite place the sensation.

"Hey Romeo! Tell me about it, stud." Santana's icy bite brought him back to the task at hand, namely staring while not getting caught by his group, especially not by the particular man at which he was gazing so unashamedly. He gritted his teeth and willed himself not to blush, to forget about those purple pants and keep his act together. Deliberately avoiding Kurt's gaze, he deflected.

"Great, thank you Santana. Who's next? Mike?"

* * *

He tried, he really did. Kurt knew he could be extremely judgmental, he knew it like he knew that ponchos would always come back in style. Also knowing that he had to spend time with these people no matter what, Kurt honestly willingly attempted to keep his mind from making assumptions about his focus group. It did no good.

First there was Blaine, who was sweet, sophisticated, and admittedly very good-looking, though he needed a serious fashion overhaul. The bow tie was cute, but polka-dots, plaid, and stripes all in one outfit screamed _overkill,_ to say the least. Kurt wondered distastefully why his hair was so gelled until Blaine turned so that Kurt could spot the tiny curls at the nape of his neck. He was suddenly hit with the need to chip through the gel lacquer and run his fingers through that curly hair and an intense desire to tug at the baby hairs at the back of his neck. He mentally shook himself, shoving those thoughts far away. In less than half an hour he would be meeting Sam as New and Improved Harvard Student Kurt Hummel and he needed total concentration on the task at hand. Thoughts about Blaine would only lead to trouble.

Mike seemed very nice, though quiet and reserved. He recounted his time at MIT with detachment, no sign of life in his face or voice. Kurt immediately put him into the Heartless Robot category, the place that intellectuals get to when they know so much that even they are no longer impressed by learning. When Blaine prompted Mike to talk about what he did in his spare time, however, Kurt saw why academics were not his passion. Mike breathed the word "dancing" like it was more prayer or sacred object than word. He leaned forward, talked with his hands, and actually _smiled_ as he talked about the summer intensive he took with the New York School of Ballet. It hit Kurt really close to home, reminding him of his own fish-out-of-water feelings, the way he was determined to impress Sam like Mike was no doubt trying to appease his parents. He found himself smiling too as Mike went on about dance for three times as long as he talked about school.

Hillary was small, barely five foot two, and looked more child than woman. She was also loud, no doubt because she was used to people looking right over her head if she didn't speak up. More than once Kurt was hit with a flash of annoyance at the way she laughed at her own jokes, spoke in a thick Southern accent, and swore in every sentence. Maybe it was the Alabamian in her, but Kurt still could not understand how someone could have no regard for how other people saw them.

Kurt's disbelief at Hillary's attitude was nothing compared to his shock at the spectacle that was Santana Lopez. Not only was she beautiful, she had wit so sharp that it cut right to the quick. She wasted no time in shattering all Kurt's preconceived notions about Latinas, Michiganders, and women in general, all of which she did in acerbic Spanglish. He was still trying to process her three introductions later when it was his turn to speak.

"Last but not least," Blaine gestured to Kurt, who had been so busy judging and looking around the quad for Sam that he had forgotten to come up with something to say.

"Well, I'm Kurt Hummel, I graduated top of my class from UCLA where I was featured soloist in the UCLA Show Choir and the first to be Delta Nu's Anchor Man Sweetheart four years in a row. I love my Chihuahua Thatcher, designing clothes, and all things Broadway."

Santana snorted, interrupting him. Kurt raised an eyebrow.

"Of course you love show tunes, Fruitcake McPurplepants. I'm surprised you haven't burst into flames yet."

"Santana!" Blaine scolded her, sounding appalled.

Kurt didn't bat an eyelid. He considered himself objectively for signs that her comment had stung. After all, he was no stranger to bullying and homophobia. He found that he wasn't even upset; maybe just a bit sad that she thought so little of herself that she had to make others feel bad, too.

"Oh that's okay, I'm proud of who I am," Kurt shot back with quiet steely arrogance. "I don't have to hide behind insults or put down others to be happy at the end of the day."

"Ooh," Hillary hissed, and Mike was frozen with his eyebrows raised and his mouth open in a perfect O.

Blaine was shocked into silence, but Santana was livid.

"I…you…you _little twerp_—"

Kurt watched her struggle to form words with a sense of deep satisfaction, wondering absently whether anyone had ever stood up to her. He couldn't help the smug smile that stretched over his face. Eventually she gave up trying to speak and instead stared him down with fire in her eyes.

"Well um," Blaine started, obviously trying to gloss over the uneasiness, "Now that we're all acquainted, it's almost time for lecture, and—"

Santana took that as a cue and stood up, stalking off with one last withering look over her shoulder at Kurt.

Kurt, however, was completely unconcerned. He drained the last of his mocha, stood calmly and took five steps to toss the empty paper cup into the trashcan nearby. He turned back to find all three remaining group members still sitting on the blanket and looking at him expectantly, waiting for a reaction.

"Well? Are we going, or aren't we?" Kurt said fussily, feeling belatedly embarrassed by his outburst. He had been so concerned with making the right impression, and now he had let his defensiveness get the best of him and made everyone think he was bitchy and vindictive.

Mike reacted first, standing up and adjusting his bag. He moved towards Kurt and the other man flinched, expecting some kind of sarcastic comment. Instead, Mike clapped him on the shoulder and nodded his head once. Kurt marveled at the approval, and opened his mouth to say something in thanks, but Hillary beat him to the punch.

"That was awesome! Oh my god, you really let her have it! You're so badass!" she gushed, tugging on the strap of Kurt's bag for emphasis. He swayed with her insistent pulls, nearly falling over. He stumbled slightly, righting himself by resting his hands on Hillary's head. She screeched indignantly and Kurt felt bad for mussing her hair, but it was the only part of her he could easily reach.

"Sorry! Thanks for the sentiments, really, but I just told her the truth. Now can we get to class please?"

Mike and Hillary obliged, wandering off towards Pennington Hall. Kurt shook his head when he realized they were dramatically re-enacting Kurt's confrontation with Santana. He laughed softly in disbelief, secretly enjoying the acceptance.

He turned back to Blaine, who had not said a word, looking up at him with an unreadable expression. His eyes were bright and wide, his dark eyebrows raised comically. If Kurt wasn't in such a good mood he would have made a sarcastic remark, but as it was he just held his hand out to help Blaine stand.

Blaine took the hand and allowed Kurt to pull him to his feet, but he continued to stand in silence. Kurt sighed deeply, thoroughly confused at Blaine's erratic behavior. He picked up the empty Dunkin Donuts box and threw it away; he grabbed Blaine's forgotten shoulder bag and handed it to him. Kurt picked up the blanket, which he could now see was covered in garish cartoon kittens, and shook the grass off so he could fold it neatly into a square. Blaine allowed him to place the blanket into his hands, and he numbly stuffed it into his bag.

Kurt was very uncomfortable in the silence, unable to guess the thoughts that were running through Blaine's head. He could be angry, stunned, or biding his time to come up with the perfect scathing reprimand. Maybe it was all three at once.

"Shall we?" Kurt said finally, gesturing towards Pennington Hall. He started walking and didn't wait for Blaine to follow. He caught up anyway and was still just watching him soundlessly, his eyes wide in wonder. Kurt bristled a little, finally frustrated.

"I do know how to take care of myself. I'm sorry if that's such a surprise," he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

Blaine's eyebrows furrowed, but his eyes stayed the way they were, big and soft. Kurt's words seemed to break him out of whatever trance in which he had been, forcing him to finally speak.

"No, Kurt. I mean, no, that's not what I thought at all." He was the uneasy one now, pulling at the hem of his sweater. "I was just—you were so _sure_ about her, and about yourself. It was incredible."

Kurt felt the scowl melt off his face as comprehension hit. Blaine wasn't surprised, he was _proud_, and more than a little awed from the looks of it.

"Oh, well in that case, thank you," he breathed faintly, trying to comprehend this new facet of Blaine Anderson: law school graduate, questionable dresser, leader, personal cheerleader.

They were ascending the steps of Pennington Hall and Kurt was just about to make a joke about their first group meeting having abysmal focus when a flash of familiar blonde hair seized all of his contemplations and brought him to a screeching halt. He scrambled to realign his thoughts, pat himself down, and tug on his fedora to make sure everything was perfect. This was the moment for which he had been waiting over six months, for which he had worked tirelessly and at times fruitlessly. Sam was _right there_, standing outside the doors of the lecture hall.

"Uh, Kurt?" Blaine was waving his hand in front of Kurt's face, no doubt confused by the sudden intense change in his behavior.

"Sorry," he replied off-handedly as he stepped away from Blaine without a second thought and moved toward the very reason he was there at all.


	4. Everything has Changed

**Note from Bee: **

Sorry this is a bit later than usual! I'm actually in the busy part of my summer.

All the love and thanks and cookies in the world to my beautiful wonderful beta Summer (tumblr: **betweenthedimandthedark**). Without her this story wouldn't be half of what it is. Any mistakes are totally mine.

Annie over at **flerdyblerb** also gets all my love for being so sweet and amazing! I hope this lives up to your expectations darling!

Find me on tumblr at **fruitflyxo**! Tag anything you want me to see with **#fruitflyxo** or **#fic: legality**!

To all my new readers and my old readers too, thank you so much for taking your time to read and give me feedback! I can't describe how amazing it is to know that people out there in the world are reading things I wrote. I love every single one of you!

LOVE FOR EVERYONE!~

_Chapter title from "Franklin" - Paramore_

* * *

Chapter 4: Everything has Changed

* * *

Blaine was left gaping at the back pockets of outrageously purple pants as Kurt abruptly walked away. _Do I smell bad?_ Blaine discreetly sniffed under his collar, but it seemed to be alright. _Was it something I said?_ He mentally kicked himself for speaking without thinking. Kurt probably wasn't concerned with someone who couldn't even form sentences correctly. God, more than anything it was probably that damn kitten throw blanket.

Kurt didn't disappear into the crowd like Blaine expected, desperate to get away from the inarticulate cat-blanket-owning dork that was supposed to be his mentor. Instead, Kurt seemed to be very deliberately walking towards a blonde guy who was playing a game on his iPhone. Well, Blaine hoped he was playing a game, or the violent jerks and screen-swiping were extremely unnecessary.

He could picture this guy in California with Kurt. He had an almost surfer-dude vibe with the blonde swooshy hair and laid-back attitude. He also—_whoa_—had a huge mouth. Blaine immediately detested his own dark, curly, very un-swooshy hair and normal-sized mouth, but he didn't know why. It could, however, have something to do with Kurt and his purple pants being much more interested in this big-mouthed blonde than in anything Blaine had to say.

But Blaine could see the appeal. Big Mouth was certainly more relaxed than most of the students milling around. Just from where Blaine was standing he could catch more than one conversation filled with boasts of LSAT scores, community service work, personal accomplishments, undergrad GPAs— Harvard was the best of the best, meaning students now had to fiercely compete to be on top when before it had come easily. While all the other new law students were bragging, nervously flipping through text books, or staring at the campus maps, this guy was the only one self-assured enough to be nonchalantly playing a game. Blaine, who hadn't taken the time to make friends while in law school, let alone play video games, couldn't help the tiny bit of dislike that wedged into his opinion of Big Mouth.

Kurt leaned gracefully on the column nearest Big Mouth, one knee bent, his foot resting on the marble with an impressively convincing air of casualty, Blaine noted. Kurt pulled his own iPhone out and started tapping the screen. After a moment, effortlessly appearing as though he was doing nothing but glancing around the courtyard, Kurt turned to look at Big Mouth while simultaneously arching his back off the column and tilting his chin up. Blaine choked on the air he was inhaling because _damn_, those _pants_ and his _neck_ and that _hat_—Blaine needed to look anywhere else, anywhere but at Kurt. He quickly sought out Big Mouth to gauge his reaction. Unfortunately for Kurt, Big Mouth was completely unconcerned with anything but his game, which Blaine had guessed was Fruit Ninja from the amount of angry swiping he was doing. Kurt, also noticing this, sighed with frustration and collapsed to settle back against the column.

Blaine was confused, to say the least. Did Kurt know this guy? If they did both come from California, why wouldn't Kurt just go up and say hi? Was he—was Kurt _flirting_ with this guy? Blaine had to physically close his mouth to stop the harsh nervous laugh that suddenly bubbled out. It wasn't really funny, he was just shocked, that was all, taken aback and _surprised_ because now that the thought had crossed his mind he was sure that Kurt was flirting. It was so ridiculous and so obvious at the same time that laughter was the only reaction he could manage.

Kurt's head began to turn Blaine's way, probably to find the source of the creepy bark-laugh, and Blaine had to avert his eyes quickly. He ducked his head and tried to seem occupied with the hem of his sweater, completely disgusted with himself on how ashamed he felt to be caught looking. It's not like he had been _spying_, Kurt had walked away so rudely and he had every right to know why.

He willed Kurt to look away as he watched the progression of a line of ants on the concrete. _Inhale, two, three, four—exhale, two, three, four…_ He breathed in and out twenty times then ventured a glance back to the column. Kurt was thankfully once again preoccupied with Big Mouth, and Blaine relaxed a little, his cover not blown.

Kurt, however, looked like he had made up his mind about something. Blaine watched, eyes wide, as he purposefully pushed off the column to walk towards Big Mouth. Blaine took two steps forward without having actually made the decision to do so, his whole body filled with unbearable curiosity and a deep desire to find out what would happen.

Big Mouth didn't see Kurt coming. In fact, he was entirely oblivious until Kurt brushed right past him, one shoulder ghosting across another. The blonde guy glanced up from his game, looked back down, and then did a double-take just like a cartoon character. If Blaine hadn't been holding his breath he would have laughed. If his reaction wasn't so intensely vital to Blaine at the moment, it would have been hysterical. But for reasons he didn't want to begin to think about, nothing mattered until he heard what Big Mouth had to say.

"Kurt?" Big Mouth was in total disbelief. His mouth was wide open and larger than ever, eyebrows invisible under his mop of hair.

Blaine drooped, the breath he was holding whooshing out into the bright summer air. So they did know each other, and Blaine had no chance at an opening to swoop in and save Kurt from the clutches of a pushy stranger. He was almost disappointed; it was kind of his job to stick up for his group, and the opportunity for him to leave Kurt with a good impression was swiftly closing. Blaine only hoped that by the next time they had to meet up, Kurt would forget how weird he had been back in the quad.

"Sam! Wow, hi!" Kurt replied, his voice higher than normal in excitement and disbelief. Blaine smiled at Kurt's near-perfect acting, almost believing it himself that Kurt hadn't noticed Big Mouth – _Sam_—until that moment.

"What? No, _how _—what are you _doing_ here, Pooh Bear?" Sam was confused, and almost panicked. The pet name wasn't lost on Blaine either _(Pooh Bear, really?)_, and now he was so very interested he felt he would burst if he didn't find out what was going on. And, as Kurt's mentor, this was totally part of his job description. Past relationships were a huge detriment to college success, and from what Blaine could see this Sam wasn't too happy about Kurt being there. Knowing the situation from the beginning would only help Blaine's inevitable pep talk to come later.

"Oh I go here! This is so funny, because I had completely forgotten that _you_ go here! And look, here we are, both going here!" Blaine winced a little at Kurt's failed nonchalance, his ruse much more apparent now. Kurt seemed to get the same message and shut his mouth tightly.

A group of girls behind Blaine started laughing incredibly loud, drowning out everything else. Blaine had already been straining to hear Kurt and Sam, and now all he could do was watch their lips move. Sure that Kurt was way too involved in his conversation to notice, Blaine took a circuitous route to the bench not six feet from where Sam had stationed himself near the door to the lecture hall. He kept his head down, pulling out his yellow legal pad again to make it seem as though he wasn't listening in and hopefully to obscure his face.

"…Sorry, I'm just a little confused," Sam said as Blaine pulled his pen from the side pocket of his shoulder bag. With the pretense of tugging his pants from where they bunched at the waist, Blaine shifted his knees a few degrees to the right so that Kurt and Sam were once again in eyesight without having to turn his head. He leaned gingerly against the brick wall, mindful of his sweater, and hugged his right knee into his chest so he could rest the legal pad there. To a casual observer it would appear that he was just scribbling, sitting because he was immersed in his own world instead of eavesdropping to infiltrate Kurt's.

"_Harvard Law_, Sam. This university in which we are currently standing, right this very minute? I'm a student here. I have an ID and everything." Kurt was endlessly patient and positive, pulling his wallet from the bag slung across his shoulder and brandishing the dark red plastic card in Sam's face. Blaine winced a little for Kurt's sake, the discomfort and anxiety on Sam's face that was so obvious to him It was clearly going right over Kurt's head.

Sam's big mouth was open and he seemed to be searching for something to say when the doors to the lecture hall swung open and the crowd of students began to press inside.

"Oh, I guess I should go get a good seat! Let's catch up after class, okay?" Kurt was gone with an airy wave and one last excited smile.

Sam, however, seemed rooted to the spot, his lips moving but no noise coming out. Blaine grabbed his bag and went over to Sam, trying to seem just mildly interested, though the curiosity was still tight in his chest. Sam didn't react to Blaine's presence, so he cleared his throat pointedly.

When Sam finally looked up he said, "Ah, who _is_ he? To you, I mean." Blaine cursed his own incoherence once again, but Sam seemed to get the point.

"Kurt? We both went to UCLA. He's… my ex-boyfriend."

Blaine had thought about that, had added it to his mental list of possible scenarios, but he wasn't prepared for it to be fact. He reeled just a little, his curiosity finally satisfied but some other part of him just awakened. There was no time in the quickly clearing courtyard to examine the way the little bit of dislike he felt towards Sam explode into hot judgmental aversion. Blaine nodded jerkily and stepped around Sam into the lecture hall, walking right to the front of the room in an attempt to get away from the blooming feelings that he couldn't place.

When Blaine turned to face the packed lecture hall, the fifty bright, open faces sitting in neat rows, he pushed down the tangle of emotions and tried to focus on the leader role into which he easily fell. The action was so familiar that it was nearly robotic to shut off one part of himself and turn on another. It was the same way he had been elected class president three times, how he got nearly every solo in his school choir, how he was respected, admired, wanted but never really accepted or loved. Being in charge was safe, and taking care of other people was so much simpler than trying to take care of himself. This spot in front of an audience where most people felt exposed was just where Blaine felt the safest, content to hide behind the confident smile and easy persona that had become a mask. This was exactly what everyone expected from him, and he knew if everyone else was happy then he could pretend he was happy, too.

Blaine knew all these things, he saw himself for the fraud he was, but altering his ways was something he didn't dare to think about because he wouldn't have the first clue how to change.

* * *

Kurt couldn't help humming to himself as he slid primly into the front row, moving all the way to the last seat of the curved desk space. There were five rows in all, curved into semi-circles so that every student had a view of the huge whiteboard, projector screen, and podium. Standing, Kurt could almost reach out and touch the corner of the tray that held several dry erase markers. Sitting, Kurt placed his bag carefully onto the desktop and swiveled in the chair to watch the classroom fill up around him.

The smile on his face refused to waver, fueled by the warm fire that seeing Sam had ignited. He had been so surprised to see Kurt, something that Kurt had anticipated, but he had also been kind, something Kurt had not foreseen. He had predicted indifference, suspicion, and maybe even outrage, but he had not been so optimistic as to expect _kindness. _ Images of being back in Sam's arms ran through his head, adding thoughts of cozy shelter from cruel New England winters to his memories of salty kisses and sandy beach days. Dreamily he rested his chin on one hand, wiggling the foot of his crossed leg to an aimless melody.

Though Kurt was keeping an eye on the door he still hadn't seen Sam, even when the steady stream of students had trickled to nothing. He was just beginning to get worried when the door flew open and Blaine strode in, looking extremely upset about something. Kurt stopped humming and sat up a little straighter, trying to imagine what could have happened in the five minutes between them walking up to Pennington Hall together and Blaine now stepping through the door. Was it something Kurt did? He couldn't remember anything in particular he had said to Blaine since that morning, his head so full of Sam's hair and his face and his chest. Kurt couldn't look away from Blaine's bowed head and his tense arms gripping the back of a chair, trying to telepathically send good thoughts his way.

Kurt was so intent that he nearly fell out of his chair when Blaine straightened, looking like a new man. Every bit of apprehension was gone from his face, smoothed over into the small friendly smile Kurt remembered from earlier in the quad. It was like Kurt had imagined the entire entrance. Kurt blinked hard, trying to focus on what was in front of him, but Blaine's wooden smile remained and he was now confidently moving to the center of the open floor. He looked alright, but Kurt couldn't help but feel suspicious. How could anyone get over being upset so quickly?

Blaine didn't even wait for the room to quiet down before he launched right into speaking.

"Harvard Law School is not what you think it's going to be."

Kurt couldn't help but be impressed when everyone fell silent as soon as they noticed Blaine, before he even finished the sentence. Blaine had incredible charisma.

"It's probably going to be a lot more difficult and a hundred times more rewarding than you could ever imagine. I'm Blaine Anderson, Professor Smythe's teaching assistant, and I was sitting in your seat just three years ago. Graduating from Harvard Law was a long, grueling process, but I can promise you that it was one of the best experiences of my life. And that experience, for you, starts today. It begins here in those squeaky chairs and with a million hopes and dreams that all come down to where you are right now. You're here because you're the best of the best, and if you continue to work diligently, you'll leave Harvard much better than how you first started."

Kurt found himself nodding subconsciously, soaking in every word. Blaine certainly knew how to work a crowd.

"Now Blaine, not everyone is as exceptional as you are." Kurt gasped a little, along with most of the rest of the room, when Professor Smythe swept through the open door behind Blaine. He was tall, or maybe Blaine was short, but the effect was staggering to say the least. Smythe was probably in his mid-forties, his perfectly styled hair just beginning to gray at the temples. He was clad in a delicious dark suit that Kurt wanted to rip right off his body, partly because Kurt wanted to wear it himself and partly because he would love to see what was underneath. Kurt had never been one for older men, but for Professor Smythe, he might have to make an exception.

Blaine's smile faltered for the slightest second but he seemed to catch himself and quickly return it, making Kurt think he was imagining things again. No one else seemed to notice, their eyes on Professor Smythe. Blaine still sounded sure of himself when he said, "Class, Professor Sebastian Smythe. Also a Harvard alum, and a very brilliant lawyer in criminal proceedings, as well."

Kurt was seriously well on his way to swooning until Professor Smythe stepped forward and unceremoniously swept Blaine to the side. He literally shoved Blaine over with his whole right arm, forcing Blaine to scuttle or be knocked over. Blaine chose to shuffle, his face turning pink and the line of his jaw set hard. Kurt couldn't help the outraged scoff that slipped through his lips. Professor Smythe turned his head sharply towards the noise, his face furious. Luckily Kurt wasn't the only one who was more than a little taken aback at Smythe's behavior so the professor couldn't single him out.

Every asset that Smythe had was fully eclipsed by his gross mistreatment of Blaine. For a Harvard professor to act so carelessly towards the assistant that he had personally chosen was ridiculous. Kurt fumed silently, the disapproval no doubt evident on his face. Just because Blaine was small and agreeable didn't mean he deserved to get pushed around. Kurt had an involuntary flash back to his own hellish high school days and he clamped down on those memories tightly, locking them away.

If he was trying to impress his students, Smythe had failed. But if intimidation was what he was going for, then he had certainly succeeded. The room was abuzz with outraged murmurs that stopped abruptly wherever Smythe looked, and a few students in the front row across the room from Kurt had slouched so low in their seats they were disappearing.

"Now what Mr. Anderson told you is quite—_charming_—but not necessarily true. Though it's certainly wonderful and endearing to believe that everyone has what it takes to become a lawyer, the harsh reality is that it doesn't matter. You can get into the most exclusive schools in the world, your mommies and daddies can shell out every single dollar they have, and you can study until your eyes fall out, but none of those things will make you a great lawyer."

Smythe paused to let his words settle over the class. Kurt knew a dramatic pause when he saw one, mostly because he employed them on a regular basis, and this one was a doozy. Every face he could see was stunned and almost nauseous. A few kids were typing furiously on their laptops, no doubt ranting to their parents or maybe even the Dean of Law School about the bashing they received in Smythe's first class.

"You have to be tough, and tenacious," Smythe continued. "You have to want this so badly that you'll die before you take no for an answer. You've heard that lawyers are sharks? Wrong. Good lawyers, the ones that win, are bulldogs. Bulldogs don't care about the size or strength of the animal they attack. They just grab on, lock that jaw and never let go, no matter what. Sure, you can work hard, but you also have to be single-minded and ruthless to be great."

Kurt raised an eyebrow, more to himself than anything. Blaine was the only lawyer he personally knew, and it was certainly hard to picture Blaine as _ruthless_ in any respect of the word. Even the lawyer who had handled his father's workplace injury case was perfectly friendly, his wife and kids lovely and polite.

"Law school is an excellent litmus test to separate those who think they will be great lawyers and those who will actually become great lawyers. You all got into Harvard based on your past accomplishments, but when those of you who are lucky enough to survive Harvard Law graduate, the real test begins. The internships and job offers you get when you graduate will depend on how you do in school, and they will also depend on the connections you make here. I, along with your peers and other professors, can be your biggest ally or your greatest enemy. Don't overestimate yourself and don't underestimate anyone else."

The class had fallen silent once again, no typing or murmuring. Smythe, satisfied with his extortion, continued with the lecture.

"Now, if you'll all turn to page 54. I assume that last night's reading went well?"

There was a collective rustle and shuffle as everyone pulled a textbook out and flipped pages. Kurt looked around fretfully, but no one seemed to be as panicked as he felt. _Who assigns reading for the first day of class?_ He reached into his bag to pull out the criminal law textbook that he bought on Amazon and had shipped to his apartment, mostly because it was huge and scholarly and Sam would be so impressed to see him with his nose buried in it. The plastic shrink wrap was still in place. Kurt tried his best to slice the plastic and pull it off with minimal noise. He winced when it crinkled loudly, and glanced up to see Blaine watching him. Kurt looked away quickly, shoving the plastic noisily into his bag and fighting the blush creeping up his cheeks.

"Criminal law is essentially about acts that can land a person in jail, such as larceny, burglary, rape, assault, murder. There is a much better, more verbose description in the forward of your book which you are free to read." Smythe waved his hand at the textbooks open on the desks to indicate the words he didn't have time to mention. "Now, this sample case is about an armed robbery of a gas station convenience store." Kurt skimmed the case description quickly, skipping over all the flowery lawyer words and Latin phrases that were completely foreign to him.

"Mr. Jones, the suspect in question, has been arrested and is about to be put on trial. You are hired to represent him. Who can tell me, as the lawyer for this client, how you will begin to organize your defense?" Blaine offered Smythe the class roster and he took it, skimming the list. "Ah, yes, how about Hummel?"

Kurt froze in his seat, his eyes darting around on the small off-chance that there was any other Hummel in the room. No one was volunteering.

"Kurt Hummel?" Professor Smythe said again, his eyes narrowing dangerously. Kurt raised a timid hand in acknowledgement, willing himself not to tremble. Smythe spotted him and the arrogant smirk and steely glint in his eye made a sweat break out all along Kurt's hairline. "Yes, Mr. Hummel, care to answer the question?"

"Well," Kurt stalled, trying to ignore the dozens of eyes on him, including the two hazel ones belonging to Blaine, and focus on the case he just read for the first time. "You need to find out if he's guilty or not?"

He hadn't intended for it to come out as a question, but there it was. The pause stretched out forever, and there was no safe place to look. Kurt resolutely ignored Blaine, unprepared to handle disappointment from him on the first day. He couldn't handle Smythe's smug face or the mocking smiles of his classmates, so instead he stared at a little X gashed into his wooden desk, rubbing it over and over with his thumb.

Smythe chuckled a little, an invitation for everyone else to join in. A lot of the class did, though the laughs weren't genuine and sounded more out of fear than mirth. Kurt chanced a glance up, hoping he could convey to Blaine how sorry he was for embarrassing him. Though Blaine blessedly wasn't laughing along with everyone else, his face was unreadable in response. Kurt nodded a little, rubbing harder at the X, trying to calm down the panic suddenly rising in him like bile. It had been many years since high school but he hadn't forgotten how it felt to be maliciously singled out. He again pushed at the memories that crept around the edges of his consciousness, trying to keep them out.

"Yes, well, that's certainly—" Smythe began, but stopped. Kurt glanced up to see him staring at a prim young blonde woman with her hand in the air. "Miss…?"

"Quinn Fabray," the girl said matter-of-factly, folding her hands on the desk in front of her. "I would like to answer the question, if I could?" Smythe nodded, a little surprised. Kurt couldn't help but gape at her as she locked eyes with him, turning up her nose and giving him a tight smile of superiority, the simple motions turning her delicate features ugly.

"First you would need to find Mr. Jones's criminal record, as well as get the details of the robbery, like how much he took and if he injured anyone. Since Jones was the one arrested and thrown in jail, there is no question as to his _guilt_." She punctuated the last part right at Kurt, and he fought hard to breathe evenly through his nose. _I will not cry in this classroom. _

The laughter was back, now more enthusiastic and less timid. Kurt quickly snipped every tie he had to emotion, feeling his face harden as his resolve did, too. Blaine wasn't the only one who could pretend like nothing was wrong.

"Alright! Wow, Miss Fabray, excellent answer. The key to succeeding in criminal law is often just knowing the law itself. There are many times that an entire trial can be thrown out because of a police misstep or a lack of evidence, even if the defendant is indeed guilty. As a criminal lawyer, it is my job and yours to get a client the lightest sentence possible regardless of his or her guilt. Better luck next time, Mr. Hummel. Now, as for our client Mr. Jones…"

Kurt sat incredibly straight and stared at a spot high on the opposite wall, wishing for the floor to open up and swallow him whole, for Smythe to end the class, for someone to have an asthma attack and make a distraction so he could slip out. He wished that he had chosen a seat right beside the door, that Quinn Fabray would fall on her face and that Blaine and the whole focus group would pretend like nothing happened. More than anything he wished that Sam had zoned out for the whole class and missed the entire humiliation. Not even one class in and the damage was way past being controllable. _Maybe if I just crawl in a hole for a year or two, the whole thing will blow over._

Smythe moved on to torture other students, making Kurt feel slightly better. Though everyone else clearly knew about the reading assignment when he did not, that didn't mean that they knew the answers to Smythe's questions. He took every opportunity to demean and outsmart his students and at times Blaine.

"Mr. Chang. Define _manslaughter_," Smythe asked Mike, and Kurt shifted uneasily.

"Manslaughter is involuntary or accidental killing of another person. As a legal term it usually also means shorter and lighter sentences for the client." Smythe nodded approvingly and Kurt relaxed as Mike aced the question, of course.

The next student wasn't so lucky, forgetting completely the meaning of _gravamen_.

When Kurt got brave enough to look around the room again he found Blaine watching him, no doubt wondering how he could get Kurt transferred to another focus group immediately. Blaine appraised him for a second, then mouthed, _You okay?_ Kurt took a deep, shaky breath and nodded, attempting a smile that probably looked more like a grimace. Blaine seemed to be satisfied, nodding in return and going back to listening to Smythe. Kurt went back to wishing for the class to end.

"If Mr. Dewitt was under the influence of drugs, would he still be liable for murder?" Smythe asked this one to Santana.

"Well sir, that depends on the type of drugs he was on, because when I drink tequila I'm definitely not responsible for my actions." Kurt joined in the laughter this time, grateful to Santana for giving their classmates something to remember besides his fumble. She turned her head his way and he smiled. Her lips twitched for just a moment before she looked away. Kurt counted it as a win.

Smythe _would_ be the only professor to keep his class for the entire period on the very first day. Kurt found himself watching the clock like he was back in grade school, feeling every tick of the minute hand in twitches of his fingers on the desktop. All around the room students were getting antsy, unused to sitting for so long after a long summer of no classes. Kurt found himself clicking his pen incessantly until he got a nasty glare from the girl seated next to him.

"Now, before I excuse you," Smythe began at ten minutes before class was scheduled to end, stopping when his words brought forth a flurry of packing up activity. He stood, silent, until every student was once again paying attention. He tried again. "Before I excuse you, I must confess that there is a reason I grilled you all today."

Several people grumbled, including Kurt. Maybe Smythe wasn't as sadistic as he seemed? _Doubtful._

"This semester I teach Criminal Law. Next semester I teach Legal Practice, and if you have any sense at all you'll sign up to take me again. My law firm allows me to choose four interns every year to assist me on my biggest cases. Those interns come from my classes here at Harvard. Do the work, pay attention_, read your book,_ impress me, and you might just land one of those spots. Oh, and interns of mine? I can guarantee that they will have extremely successful law careers. You are dismissed."

Kurt slipped his textbook back into his bag, taking care to not bend the pages of the sketch book already inside. He buckled the bag closed as he slid down the aisle, apologizing vaguely to people he bumped as he made a mad dash for the door of the lecture hall. Just getting out of the room eased most of the tension in his body, the sunshine helping him to forget his public criticism.

He perched on the railing at the bottom of the stairs down from Pennington Hall, trying not to look like he was waiting. From behind his iPhone he scanned the crowd for blonde hair.

* * *

The last of the students were filing out and Blaine tried to follow to make sure Kurt was really okay. He couldn't shake the weird vibes he got from Kurt's tiny grimace and his stoic body language, the way he seemed to shut down to a shell of his former lively self.

Smythe stopped Blaine short as he made for the door, almost clotheslining him with his freakishly long arms. Blaine huffed as he turned around, much more concerned with Kurt's well-being than he was with whatever pointless task Sebastian wanted him to perform. He was not a coffee lackey.

"So, Anderson, what did you think of my lecture today?" Smythe folded his arms and leaned against the podium easily. Blaine, who hadn't had Sebastian as a professor for his own first year Criminal Law class, was frankly off-put and confused by the severe first lecture. Competing for an internship or not, there was no need for Sebastian to instill such hostility and fear among his students.

Blaine, who had been silent for a moment as he thought of a response, realized that Smythe was smirking openly at his discomfort. He could tell that Blaine was itching to get out of there and he was torturing him on purpose. _Just like he tortured his students._ Blaine fumed a little, his composed and calm demeanor slipping.

"Was your main goal a power-trip? Because that was about all that I got out of the lecture. Monday morning probably wasn't the best time to try and scare them off of law school forever. To be honest, it was too much." He fought hard to sound unattached, but the words had an angry edge that he couldn't help. Blaine tried to shrug to counteract his tone, but it wasn't working.

Sebastian's face contorted into that same smug smile, but this time Blaine felt a shiver all the way to his toes with the hard steely danger that was there.

"Oh Blaine, you're always so sweet, and always so infuriatingly naïve. If I don't tell them now, and they find out a year down the line, then I haven't done my job as a professor, have I? Brutal honesty is key. These students come here with big heads, their parents having filled them from birth with ideas about how special and wonderful they are. It's high time they meet reality." Sebastian's gaze swept from Blaine to where Kurt was sitting earlier. "Law school isn't for everyone." Blaine took notice of Smythe's pointed look, a sudden wave of protective outrage putting him on the verge of lashing out, but he held his tongue at the warning in Smythe's eyes.

"Don't make me go to your father over something so silly as this." Sebastian's mocking smile had disappeared, his tone low, now slippery and greasy and thoroughly evil. "We both know that this TA job is all that is keeping him from disowning you. And we also both know that you don't need to push me very far before you'll regret ever saying anything. If you knew what's best for you, you'd smile and nod and do exactly what I tell you to do. I'll let that little comment slide, but from now on you watch your mouth and be a good little boy, or I'll go tattle on you to daddy. One misstep, and we both know you'll be out on your ass. Got it?"

Sebastian was right, but Blaine wasn't going to admit it. If he wanted to survive he was going to have to play games, just like he had for most of his life. Blaine nodded slowly, scowling to make his feelings clear.

"Good boy. Now, let's try again. What did you think of my lecture today?"

"It was great," Blaine said, hastily putting up the remnants of the façade that Sebastian had crumbled. "Really, you did a fine job of introducing new students to law. It was most enlightening." His false cheer fell totally flat.

Smythe seemed satisfied. "Much better. But next time, let's go a little lighter on the sarcasm, okay Blaine?" Sebastian slapped his butt lightly and patted his head like he was a puppy, turning to go back to his office. Blaine smoothed his hair irritably, trying to ignore the way his skin crawled at Sebastian's touch. He glared at his back until the office door slammed.

Blaine seethed, flexing his hands to stop the unbearable urge to hit. He would have to pack his boxing gloves in his shoulder bag every morning in order to deal with Sebastian. Picturing his face on the bag would have to substitute for what Blaine really wanted to do.

He glanced at his watch, figuring he had an hour before he had to have lunch with his father. Just enough time to block out the world before he had to rejoin it again.

* * *

It wasn't Sam's shaggy mop top that approached him first. It was Quinn Fabray and her perfect blonde bob.

"What do you want, Fabray?" Kurt said shortly, looking over her head at the mass exit from Pennington Hall.

"Hummel," she said smoothly, putting out her hand to shake his. "Nice to meet you."

Kurt eyed the hand apprehensively and didn't take it. "Is there a reason you're here, other than to rub that mishap from earlier in my face?"

"Sorry about that," she said dismissively, not looking sorry at all. "I just can't help myself sometimes when I know an answer. An IQ of 173 does that to a person."

Kurt was nonplussed. "Ookay, then why are you talking to me?"

Before she could speak he spotted that familiar messy head of hair over her shoulder. "Sam!" he called, elbowing past Quinn and secretly enjoying her yelp of pain.

The lecture hall doors slammed shut behind Sam and only a handful of students were still milling around the courtyard of Pennington Hall. Finally, he could talk to Sam without any interruptions.

"Sam!" he called again when Sam couldn't figure out where the voice was coming from. Sam looked almost _guilty_, not really unhappy to see Kurt but not happy either. Apparently the surprise had passed, and now he was just… conflicted?

"Sweetheart!" Kurt tried again, moving forward to smooth Sam's collar like he often did. Sam shrank back a little, his eyes focused on something to the left of Kurt's head. Kurt pouted, waiting for him to speak.

"Pooh Bear," — Sam cleared his throat loudly— "_Kurt_, I'm sorry, really I am. You caught me by surprise, and—"

"Sorry?" Kurt interrupted sharply, crossing his arms. "Sorry for what?"

The last straggling trio of students scrambled away at Kurt's threatening manner, uneager to see the confrontation. Hillary was among them, and she gave Kurt one last lingering look before she followed the others.

Quinn suddenly appeared. "Samuel, don't you have something to tell our friend Kurt here?" Kurt's eyes bugged out of his head as she wrapped her arm around Sam's elbow.

Kurt glanced from their interlocked arms to Sam's eyes in disbelief, trying to figure out the joke. _This cannot be happening._

"Quinn, meet my friend Kurt Hummel from California. Kurt, meet Quinn Fabray." Quinn nudged him pointedly until he swallowed and added, "My girlfriend." Sam might as well have slapped him in the face for all the betrayal and hurt that slammed into Kurt. Quinn looked incredibly satisfied, smiling triumphantly. But he could also see the revoltingly sympathetic apology written on Sam's face, and just like that night at Chef Sake's, it made something inside him snap.

"Oh, so you date girls now, do you Sam?" Kurt said loudly, feeling a twist of perverse satisfaction at the way Sam's vapid kindness completely fell away, replaced with stunned disbelief. "That's funny, because you didn't when I was your _boyfriend_ for two years at UCLA." Quinn's pretty face was once again contorted and horrible, and she looked like she might throw something. Kurt knew he should leave it at that, but it was too late; Kurt was so broken he couldn't think straight. Everything about that day had caught him off guard, and now he was powerless to stop the venom that was pouring out of him.

"But we couldn't have the famous Evans family tarnished by a _son_-in-law, could we? You can't convincingly claim to be holier-than-thou when your youngest son is acting on the gay side of bi. And I know all about that, don't I Sam? You can fool everyone else, but you can't fool me. I remember every time you told me you loved me, and that your family's opinion didn't affect who you loved. So much for that now, huh?" He gestured to Quinn, making sure she could see the disgust written on his face.

"I hope you're happy Sam, I really do. But I'm not going anywhere. This isn't over."

Kurt stepped back and stood for just a second more, hating himself for appreciating all the emotional wreckage he had just created. Then he turned and ran to his car so he could break down in peace.

* * *

Blaine was left gaping at Kurt's back for the second time that day. Sam and the blonde girl hanging on his arm were staring, too. Blaine had only heard the last words to come out of Kurt's mouth before he ran, but judging from the scene, it had been quite the confrontation. He was reminded of big dramatic stand-offs in the western movies his dad loved so much. Only this time, vicious words were drawn instead of guns.

Blaine stepped out from the shadow of the double lecture hall doors, moving quickly to try and catch Kurt. It wasn't until Kurt's muffled sobs reached his ears and made him stop that he rounded on Sam.

"What did you _do_?" Blaine shot as he ground to a halt, his words cruel without restraint. His punching bag would have two faces on it today.

"I, I don't…" Sam was floundering. Blaine rounded on the girl, recognizing her face from the class but not her name. She said nothing and wouldn't meet his eyes, her face closed off.

He gave up and instead sprinted to the parking lot. He ran down every aisle, yelling Kurt's name, but there was no one in sight.


	5. Holding On to Stars

**Note from Bee:** Please accept my many, many apologies for the long gap between chapters. I actually had my busy part of the summer and then I spent a week outlining the next 15 chapters of this fic! (So really, that's a win/win for everybody!)

My beta Summer (**betweenthedimandthedark** on tumblr) is simply the best. She's been here from the very beginning and I couldn't (and wouldn't) do this without her. xoxox

Don't forget to come see me/ask me anything on tumblr at **fruitflyxo**! Tag anything you want me to see with #fruitflyxo or #fic: legality 3

And if you ever doubted that I love you, here's _**over 8,000 words**_ to make up for the long wait!~

**Disclaimer:** I've never been to Boston, or Harvard _(someday though!)_ and this is a work of fiction.

_Chapter title from "Stars" - Fun._

* * *

Chapter 5: Holding on to Stars

* * *

Kurt tried his best to keep it together until he could get home. He pulled out of the parking lot safely and he almost made it out of campus intact until he saw the Harvard logo on the main sign and broke down because _Sam goes to Harvard_.

Those tears had almost dried when his phone started buzzing, showing that Mercedes was calling. And suddenly the floodgates were opened again because _she was calling to see if he had won Sam back yet_.

He couldn't go back to the apartment, not with the memories and pictures on the walls. Instead of turning down his street Kurt drove straight past, following signs to the city.

He barely made it into Boston proper _(Sam lives in Boston)_ before he had to pull over, wiping at his eyes with both hands. After a while his sobs grew fewer and father between and his vision cleared enough to see, and Kurt saw that he was parked on a section of quaint downtown with bright awnings of local shops lining the street. He was looking around eagerly, as he always loved the more charming home-grown sections of cities, when a flash of bright pink caught his eye.

The storefront just behind and across the road from him was indeed pink, the round awning somewhere between flamingo and bubble gum and the words posted above definitely carnation. _Gold Star_ the sign read in huge curlicue letters, an actual gold star punctuating the space between the two words. Kurt was almost appalled at the amount of a single syrupy color in one little area until he saw the fluorescent pink outline of a coffee cup in the window. He threw the car door open, narrowly missing an SUV that was barreling past, and sprinted across the street towards the ostentatious storefront, aiming his car remote over his shoulder to lock it.

He opened the shop door and stepped through, a tinkling bell overhead announcing his entrance and the cool conditioned air hitting him like a solid wall. Inside, the store was covered in even _more_ pink, every shade gracing the walls, the tables, the icing on top of the sweets in the glass display case. Kurt closed his eyes against the wash of garish pink, trying to adjust to so much cheer when it felt like his heart was imploding in his chest.

"Good afternoon! How can I help you?" a voice rang – no, _sang_ – out, just as happy as the pink on the walls.

Kurt didn't even open his eyes. "A nonfat mocha, the biggest one you've got. Also the most sugary sweet you have, preferably something with so much chocolate I might go into a coma. Please."

When he got no response he opened one eye, stepping back nervously when big brown eyes crowded his vision. The petite young woman in front of him was like a confection herself— shiny brown straight bangs, glowing tanned brown skin, cotton candy pink apron and downturned frosted pink lips. Her hair was up in a complicated circular braid, one that Kurt had never quite mastered and would never master now that he had no willing sorority sisters on which to practice. The thought of the Delta Nus brought him to tears again.

"Don't cry! I'll get you your coffee and one of my famous crescendo cupcakes and you can tell me all about it, okay?" she said softly. With a gentle touch on his elbow she guided him to the table closest to the counter, the surface inset with a baby pink glass mosaic and flanked by two plush magenta chairs. Kurt didn't protest as he sobbed over the inevitable conversation he would have with Mercedes and Tina and oh god _Britt_ to tell them that he failed right from the beginning, getting ridiculed in class and by Sam's _new girlfriend_.

His pity party was interrupted by the blessed appearance of a giant mug of hot coffee and the biggest cupcake he had ever seen. It was sitting on a ceramic plate (pink, of course) and decorated with a fondant gold star on the mound of soft white icing.

The young woman, who Kurt could now see was wearing a cream lace dress that fully cemented her Neapolitan ice cream color scheme, hesitated next to the other chair. Kurt nodded as he eagerly pounced on the coffee.

She sat down across from him, smoothing her dress out as she did. Kurt took a sip and felt the warmth spread all the way to the tips of his toes and ease his aching heart just a tiny, tiny bit.

"Thank you so much, ah," Kurt started, remembering too late that he didn't yet know her name.

"Rachel Berry," she said formally, holding out her right hand. Kurt set the mug down carefully to return the handshake, the ghost of a smile almost-but-not-quite forming at her strange formality. He saw the tag on her apron now, where her full name was embellished with several gold star stickers. Kurt wondered if she shouldn't just introduce herself as _Rachel Berry Gold Star_.

"Well, Rachel Berry, thank you very much. I must say, your coffee is excellent."

Rachel smiled, obviously flattered, and waved away his compliment. "Wait until you try the cupcake! Don't mention it, I learned from the best." The smile slipped off her face suddenly, a wistful look taking its place.

Kurt was curious, but he didn't mention it. He picked up the silver fork on the plate – _Real plates and real silverware?_ – peeled back the wrapper, and dug in, the velvety brown of the cake a stark contrast to the pale icing. Rachel was watching him expectantly as he brought the fork to his mouth.

"_Oh my god,_" he moaned around the bite of cupcake, surprised by how exquisite it was.

Rachel's smile could only be described as radiant. "That's dark chocolate cocoa powder in the cake, imported from Switzerland, and white chocolate bark melted and whipped into the icing and shaved on top. And of course the milk chocolate mousse in the center, that's the best part!"

Kurt showed his interest by shoveling half the cupcake into his mouth at once, making sure she could hear his enjoyment.

"That's why I call it Three-Part Harmony," she continued. "I take three notes of chocolate and blend them together to make something beautiful."

Kurt nodded his agreement, using his fork to pick up the crumbs on the edge of the pink plate.

* * *

Blaine tugged for the fiftieth time on the collar of his dress shirt. He immensely hated the required suit and tie to fit the dress code of the swanky restaurant in downtown Boston at which his father always insisted they eat.

He watched the clock warily, unwilling to leave his air conditioned car until the very last second. At 12:28 he begrudgingly opened the door and let in the summer heat.

Frantically he tried to smooth out the wrinkles in his shirt, but to no avail. Richard Anderson would just have one more thing to complain about today.

At the last minute Blaine remembered to silence his phone, the consequences of it ringing at the previous lunch still fresh in his mind. _12:29._ He slipped on the suit jacket required for entrance, cursing the way it made his sticky skin even more uncomfortable but appreciating the way it covered his rumpled shirt.

Blaine nodded at the maître d', who knew Blaine well enough that he didn't even ask for his name. Blaine was privately embarrassed when he realized he didn't know the name of the maître d'.

With one last steadying breath he moved into the dining area, his father already seated at their regular table.

* * *

"So," Rachel began, drawing out the O and trailing off with an expectant look.

He swallowed quickly. "Kurt," he offered over his raised mug.

"Kurt," she repeated, smiling triumphantly. Kurt took another sip of mocha, the chocolate still in his mouth making the coffee taste even _better_. "Bad day?" she asked gently, leaning in.

"More like a series of bad decisions," Kurt replied sadly, tracing the lip of the mug with one finger.

Rachel made a little noise with her tongue, one that Kurt imagined his own mother had made whenever he was particularly difficult. That thought made his heart ache in a different way. He took another bite of cupcake, willing the chocolate to make everything better. It helped, as incredibly sugary foods usually do, but only a little.

She seemed to take his silence as an invitation to talk. "Bad decisions," she echoed. "_Hmm_. I think I could give you a run for your money on that one." A bitter, dark look crossed her face.

Kurt stayed silent, waiting for her to go on.

"But," Rachel seemed to concede, looking around the room with a fond smile, "even bad decisions have a way of leading to good things. Sometimes great things."

He took the bait. "The shop, you mean?"

Rachel sighed heavily, spreading her arms out as if to encompass the building as a whole.

"Yes, Gold Star Bakery and Coffee Shop, my pride and joy, my home, the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thing I think about at night." After stretching to the limit, she dropped both arms and crumpled a little. "It's kind of like my child, husband, and life all rolled into one, isn't it?"

Kurt knew it wasn't a question to which she expected an answer, but he nodded sympathetically anyway.

"It really is," she answered herself, "because it's pretty much the only thing I have anymore."

Kurt was beginning to realize that Rachel Berry was a very dramatic person, but even he couldn't be cynical enough to dismiss the real pain she seemed to be feeling. He shoved away the pink plate, completely clean but for the pale pink cupcake wrapper, and took Rachel's hand into his. It was a simple gesture really, just a force of habit from his days in the over-emotional Delta Nu house, but Rachel was suddenly clinging to him like he was a lifesaver and she was sinking fast. Her eyelashes sparkled with tears but she was smiling gratefully, and Kurt squeezed back to show his support.

"When I said bad decisions," she continued, her voice a little shaky but clear, "I guess I really meant _unfortunate_ decisions. If you went back and asked any of my high school classmates where I was right now, the answer would not be 'the owner of a struggling Boston bakery.' In high school, I was a little… dramatic." Kurt nearly laughed aloud at her echoing his thoughts. _At least she's aware of it._

Rachel smiled wider, having seen his almost-chuckle. "Maybe I'm _still_ a little dramatic. But at age sixteen, I was bound and determined to be a star. I had a plan, too. I would be on Broadway in my younger days, originating the best roles and winning the Best Actress Tony every year. Then I would star in a movie musical or two, written just for me of course. I would have a best-selling tell-all biography, a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, retire in a mansion in the Hamptons with a selection of handsome young lovers…"

Kurt cleared his throat, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes I know, _get to the point Rachel_. Well, after high school graduation I was bound for New York City to start making those dreams a reality. And as I see now in hindsight, I probably would have succeeded if it weren't for Jesse St. James."

* * *

Blaine burst through the door of the pristine restroom with more force than he intended. The attendant flinched horribly, clutching at his heart. Blaine wilted a little as shame bled through his anger.

"Shit, I'm sorry, I just—" Blaine tried to explain, but the attendant just held up a hand.

"If you please, Mr. Anderson, I'll just be outside." And with that the man edged past a stunned Blaine and left him alone in the shiny tile washroom.

Blaine stood still until the bathroom door clicked shut. Then he viciously kicked the thing closest to him, which happened to be the door of a stall.

Blaine cursed loudly as his toes hit the heavy door wrong. He limped to inspect the stall closer; it wasn't wood or plastic like he had foolishly assumed, but was made out of something like granite. No wonder he had nearly broken a toe.

Blaine sighed, lifting a hand to run it through his hair before he remembered the excess of gel he had used that morning to tame his particularly bad bedhead. He threw his hand back down with more force than necessary, wincing at the rustle of too many layers of fabric against his skin.

Finally he turned to the mirror, trying to find some pretense for staying in the blissful isolation of the bathroom for just a little bit longer. Gripping the edge of the counter with both hands, Blaine stared into his own eyes until the hot adrenaline began to ebb. Now that he had stopped moving he could hear the way his harsh panting breaths echoed off the shiny walls.

_He doesn't mean it. You're taking it the wrong way. You can survive this lunch._

He stared himself down, his heartbeat, his breathing, and the throbbing in his toe calming a little at a time, until he was nearly back to normal.

Blaine glanced down at his watch. His three minutes of acceptable bathroom break were almost over.

He straightened his tie and checked his reflection one last time; though tired and defeated, he was acceptable.

The washroom attendant was, true to his word, waiting right outside the door. Blaine slipped him a twenty and another apology as he passed.

* * *

"Jesse and I met back in high school. He was older than me by a year, and he went to a high school a few towns over. From the first moment I met him I knew we would be fantastic together. He was the lead singer of Vocal Adrenaline, a multiple-National-title-winning glee club, and I—"

"Wait." Kurt pulled his hand back from hers so that he could press both his palms firmly to his temples. "Vocal Adrenaline? Of Carmel High School? In _Ohio_?"

"Well yes, of course! They won Nationals eight times in a row before someone finally knocked them off their pedestal. I wish it had been _our_ glee club, but McKinley wasn't exactly the breeding ground for young musical theatre hopefuls and we could never get the twelve members needed to compete. I had to subsist on horribly-ran school musicals and community theatre, but experience is experience all the same. Uh, Kurt?"

Kurt was speechless, his mind reeling with this new information. She was from Ohio, a terrible backwards state he luckily escaped before it could break him. And _McKinley—_

"You're from Ohio," he said finally.

Her concerned face grew more pronounced, and Kurt knew she was thinking he had gone off the deep end. "Yes."

"Where…?" The sick feeling in his stomach betrayed the fact that he already knew the answer.

"Lima, Ohio? I graduated from William McKinley High School. But that's not important to the story, I was just saying that Jesse and I—"

Kurt cut her off for the second time. "Oh my god, Rachel, focus. I'm Kurt, Kurt _Hummel_. You know, um, Burt Hummel's son."

Her eyes widened and she slapped a hand over her mouth. Kurt waited, not sure of what she would say to that.

"You're talking about Burt Hummel, the man who almost single-handedly bankrupted the famous Sylvester family and nearly tore apart Lima for good? _That_ Burt Hummel?"

"Well, you don't have to say it like _that_," Kurt grumbled, folding his arms across his chest, closing down. He knew he could walk out of the shop and never see her again, but it didn't stop it from hurting to know that people from Lima still thought about his family like that.

"No, no!" she said frantically, her hands reaching for him again, but he kept his arms crossed firmly. "What I meant, Kurt, god—I've just, that's what I always heard. I was long gone when the scandal broke loose. God, you couldn't have been more than just a kid, right?"

"I was fourteen," he said stiffly. "I was fourteen and my world fell apart. My father nearly died, I was nearly _orphaned_ from a stupid accident that could have been prevented if _Sue Sylvester_ hadn't blatantly ignored the safety codes. And when we tried to get retribution and justice for what had been done to us, the entire town turned their backs on us. The bullying at school got so bad I had to be homeschooled while the trial played out."

Kurt wiped impatiently at the furious and frustrated tears that were falling fast, his breath coming in little gasps. "My father had barely finished two horrible years of surgeries and physical therapy rounds when our lives had to be uprooted and moved to California so that we wouldn't have our tires slashed or windows broken anymore, so that I could go to a school where hateful ignorance wouldn't follow me wherever I went. So _excuse me_ for taking just a little offense to your comment."

Rachel was crying, too, both hands pressed firmly to her heart. "Oh, Kurt," she whispered, and Kurt couldn't help but sob a little. Now they were both dramatic messes.

She stood suddenly, hovering at his left shoulder. "Can I hug you?" she said quietly, twisting her fingers and rocking on her heels in meek anticipation. At Kurt's nod she reached forward and enveloped him securely.

Her embrace brought a fresh wave of tears along with the phantom feelings of hugs from Tina, Mercedes, Britt, his father. But it was more than that; she smelled so comforting, like flour and cinnamon and fresh baked something, a scent that tugged deep on his childhood memories of baking with his mom. And then there was something that was so uniquely _Rachel_, the quiet hum in his ear and the damp press of her eyelashes on his cheek.

She pulled away but left her hands on his shoulders, making sure he was looking at her.

"Kurt. I am so sorry. I thought I had learned to leave that stupid Lima way of thinking behind me, but I guess not. I'm so sorry for speaking without thinking and I'm sorry for talking about you and your father when I don't even know you. But Kurt, _wow_. What are the odds of us meeting here?"

Kurt shook his head, smiling now. "I don't know about that, Rachel, but I'm glad we did. I accept your apology. Please, tell me about Jesse. I'm sorry to have gotten you sidetracked."

She settled back into her chair, smoothing her dress again.

"Well my story looks pretty pathetic now compared to _that_ revelation," she said with a laugh, but plunged into it anyway.

"Well, Jesse and I had a bit of a rocky relationship in high school, but he showed up at my graduation and made the sweetest speech about how we needed to be together, how we could take on New York City together." Her smile turned wry and sad. "I should have known better when he also told me that he was leaving UCLA because he flunked out of their show choir program, but I was so silly and so in love."

Kurt nodded sadly, knowing the feeling of being blindsided by love.

"So we moved to New York City. It was amazing, more than I could have ever imagined."

Her eyes got big and sparkly, her focus on something far away, and Kurt could hear the reverence in her voice when she talked about living her dreams. "I had already decided to skip college and go straight to auditioning, mostly on Jesse's praise and insistence that I didn't need to study musical theatre when I could just be _doing_ musical theatre. That wasn't my first mistake, and it certainly wouldn't be my last.

"So we moved into a shabby little apartment," she continued, "and we both started auditioning. I started getting parts right away; nothing big, always ensemble, but it was work and I loved it. Jesse was out there too, and for a few years it was perfect. We weren't rich and we weren't winning Tonys, but we were performing every day and it was exactly what I always wanted. Until it wasn't." She paused to swallow thickly, her faraway look now troubled.

"Jesse landed a big part in a risky new musical, and I guess he kind of put all his eggs in one basket. When the show got cut after the first week of previews, he was a mess. And then he started the process all over again. He was constantly out auditioning, making phone calls, getting his picture and resume out there. Only this time, it wasn't working. No one was calling back. I knew he was trying, and I did everything I could to make him feel like he was wanted and loved. But then I've never been his first love. That honor has always been bestowed to the spotlight."

Kurt grabbed her hand again, squeezing it tightly when her breathing started to become uneven.

"I'm sorry for crying again." Rachel laughed a little, but there was no joy in the sound. "It was so hard, living with him at that time. He started waiting tables, making coffee, whatever he could do to pay his half of the rent that he refused to let me pay, ever. I was starting to get better parts, too. I had worked my way up to off-Broadway productions and instead of ensemble I was playing a character with an actual name!" She smiled again, but it was just a movement of lips, the only emotion behind it longing.

* * *

Blaine wasn't surprised that his father took a phone call in the middle of their lunch. He wasn't even surprised that it was right in the middle of his recounting of Sebastian's terrorizing speech. What _was_ surprising was how much it hurt.

Without even so much as an _I've got to take this_ Richard stood and went for the door, work phone in hand. Blaine was mid-sentence, forced to finish his thought to the empty air.

Though his father had disappointed him a million times, this one struck Blaine anew. He had thought that after two weeks of having to postpone their lunches this one would be better. They had twenty whole days of life to catch up on from each other, and Blaine found he was almost looking forward to seeing his father after so long.

No such luck. The lunch had been stilted, with his father wasting no time in dominating conversation and making Blaine feel two inches tall, just like he always did.

_I will not cry in this restaurant._

Blaine snuck a look at his phone for a distraction, knowing he couldn't use a bathroom excuse again.

**From: Big Bro**  
_Keep your chin up, Squirt._

He scowled at the text. He could never hate his brother- in fact, a lot of times Cooper had taken heat from their father for Blaine- but sometimes Blaine couldn't stop his bottled-up frustration. It was so easy to think that if it wasn't for Cooper there would be no reason to have to _keep his chin up_. If they weren't in constant comparison, Cooper set as an impossibly high standard that he was expected to follow, Blaine wouldn't be the second favorite son.

"Put that away, Blaine."

Blaine jumped at the sudden reappearance of his father, locking the screen on his half-written message to Cooper.

"Sorry, Dad," Blaine apologized, stuffing the phone back in his pocket before he could try to take it away.

"You know how I hate that, Blaine, it's rude. Your brother never forgot his manners like that."

Blaine focused on the beads of water chasing each other down his glass and, not for the first time, wished he couldn't hear.

* * *

Kurt gripped his now-empty mug tightly, not anxious to hear the rest of the story that had to end with Rachel sitting here in Boston, clutching his hand and holding back tears.

"It was just over five years in New York with Jesse in that tiny apartment when one day he came in and he was happier than I had seen him in almost a year. His eyes were sparkling, and he was smiling like I remembered from high school. He launched right into telling me about this huge opportunity he had gotten. The director from his failed musical had called Jesse specifically to help him spearhead a big up-and-coming theatre group. I was so excited for him I was practically jumping up and down and ready to launch myself out onto the fire escape to yell it to the whole city, when he told me the most important detail."

"It was in Boston," Kurt supplied, not even bothering to ask. Someone like Rachel Berry could only be lured away from the theatre by one thing: the promise of true love.

"Yes. I cried for _days_, Kurt, you don't even know—"

_I think I have a pretty good idea_, he thought as her tears started falling as if right on cue.

"—and I cut myself off from everyone to try and figure out what I loved more, Jesse or performing. And I chose Jesse."

Kurt wanted to cry himself. "But you said… Jesse chose the stage?"

Rachel nodded sadly, leaving the tears on her face undisturbed. "In Boston, it was like the old Jesse was back. He was happy, he was in charge, he was in his element, he felt validated and needed, and I know now that none of that was because of me. But I was happy for him, I really was. While he was off discovering himself again I was adjusting to Boston the best I could, though a lot of the first days involved crying in our admittedly much nicer apartment while he was at the theatre all day. On just the second or third day that I ventured out into the city, I found this place." Rachel looked around, a genuine but tiny smile lifting her lips.

Kurt followed her gaze, wondering if the enthusiastic Pepto-Bismol dousing had been her doing, or if she had discovered it this way.

"It wasn't as modern then. Or as pink," she mused. Kurt was startled into a laugh at Rachel seeming to read his thoughts again, and her smile widened. "The owner was the loveliest woman I've ever had the pleasure to meet. Gigi was her name, Gigi Stewart. She never would tell me what Gigi was short for, but I found out eventually. Guinevere, which I think is a perfectly lovely name."

Kurt raised an eyebrow, and Rachel got the message.

"_Anyways_, Gigi was older, edging on sixty when I first met her. That first day I came in she sat me down, gave me the best chocolate chip cookie I've ever had, and she actually _listened_ to me. That was something that Jesse never did. I didn't realize before that leaving New York would mean leaving all my friends, and it was the most amazing act of fate that led me to her. And Gigi wasn't just a friend. She was like the mother I never had."

Suddenly it was like all the air was sucked out of the room and Kurt felt so bad for asking but he just had to _know_.

"I have two gay dads," Rachel said proudly just as Kurt was opening his mouth. After gaping for a second Kurt shut it quickly because he hadn't expected that at all. His free hand twitched in his surprise and knocked the mug forward, but thankfully Rachel didn't notice. An openly gay couple in Lima, Ohio raising a daughter like Rachel Berry? He could never have imagined such a thing if he hadn't known it to be true.

"…And my birth mother wasn't interested in reconnecting with a teenager. It was Jesse who helped lead me to her, too," she mused quietly, dropping her train of thought. Kurt squeezed her hand quickly.

"But Gigi, she was incredible. Her husband had died ten years before, and her kids had all grown up and left her, not one of the five wanting to stay and take over the bakery from her. Gigi and I were like kindred spirits, bonding over music and dreams and following love instead of ambition. She wanted to be an airline stewardess," Rachel clarified, "but she learned to bake instead so she could stay home with Ralph and raise a family. So romantic, right?"

Kurt wasn't sure that it was, but he could tell that Gigi meant a lot to Rachel.

"So I started coming here every single day. In the mornings I would visit Jesse at the theatre, sometimes I would look for auditions in the area, and most of the time I would just look at pictures from New York and cry. But after lunch I would come here, and Gigi would feed me and rub my back while I vented and never ever let me pay. Then one day she started letting me go into the back with her and learn to bake. We started with those chocolate chip cookies and the next thing I knew I was painting on cakes that I had personally baked, frosted, and covered with fondant. Gigi was an excellent teacher and once I started seeing what I could make with my hands I wanted to do it all. Eventually she hired me, just like that, and I was here at 4:30 every morning to help her bake, working until close at 9 pm. I loved every minute of it."

Rachel was so happy, remembering, that it was especially jarring when her face fell.

"After two years with the Boston Theatre Company, Jesse left the director job. The story I got was 'creative differences,' but knowing Jesse as I do, he was probably fired for suggesting one too many times that they do _Into the Woods_ or staring at himself in the mirror more than directing."

"You sound a little bitter," Kurt said quietly, off-put by the nastiness cutting through her usual bubbly tone.

"When he came home to give me the news, I had no idea what would happen. I thought maybe he'd try for another job here, maybe he would want to move back to New York together, or maybe we'd wait here until another offer came in and then follow it. What _did_ happen is that he dumped me. He told me he was moving back to New York in a month, but in the meantime I had to get out of our apartment."

Kurt sucked in a breath, shocked by the unabashed cruelty. "Oh, you poor thing," he breathed, placing his free hand over their joined ones.

"I was devastated. I yelled, I cried, I think I begged at one point, but that's when I finally realized that even after ten years Jesse and I would never be together, not the way I wanted us to be. He would never be able to put me above his career, even though I'd made that exact sacrifice for him."

Kurt squeezed her hand tightly, trying to convey without words how sorry he was.

"And now I'm almost to the end of this sad story, I promise," Rachel insisted, wiping at her tears. "Long story short, Gigi took me in and I moped for a long time. I was just getting back on my feet when a low, low blow happened: Gigi died." The tears were thicker than ever now.

"I found out that she left me the bakery in her will, and so here we are. I cleaned out the storage upstairs and turned it into my apartment. I baked for five days straight out of grief and then sold it all in two. Gold stars have always kind of been my thing, and Gigi called me Star even before she knew that. I figured she wouldn't mind if I took the liberty of rebranding the shop."

Kurt smiled when Rachel did, the last of her tears shining in her eyes.

"One more thing, and then you're going to tell me about your day," Rachel began, fixing him with her best stern glare. Kurt's chest twisted up in pain all over again.

"Working here," she continued, not noticing Kurt's agony, "is the most fulfilling thing I've ever done in my life. I spent so many years only worried about myself, I went through high school with everyone hating me, and I spent almost ten years in a relationship with a guy who dumped me when I interfered with his narcissism. I'm too old to try for Tonys now and no one will ever want to read my biography, but now with my own two hands I make little masterpieces, and I get to give them to other people and watch their faces light up with joy. I get to talk to all kinds of people from all walks of life, meet them and experience a slice of their life. Sometimes I even meet exceptional people," she added, squeezing Kurt's hand and smiling softly.

"I love this job, I do, even if it's not what anyone who knew me growing up expected from me, even if it's not what I expected from myself." The conviction in her words was clear, but Kurt could tell there was an exception coming. "But I just feel so alone here. I spend my day working to make everyday lives just a little bit shinier, and at the end of the day I climb those stairs alone and I go to bed alone knowing that I didn't make a lasting connection to anyone, all day long. And I've never had anyone to tell that to, so I'm telling you now."

Kurt realized he was crying too. He opened his mouth to say something to make her feel better, to tell her that she wasn't alone.

"I moved here from California to follow a guy," Kurt blurted. Rachel's eyebrows disappeared under her blunt bangs.

"I got into Harvard Law School at the last minute and moved across the country to follow my bisexual ex-boyfriend, who, I found out today, now has a rich, preppy girlfriend. Wow, it sounds even more pathetic out loud."

Rachel was comforting him now, bringing her other hand to complete their pile of clutching fingers. "Kurt, I had no idea. That's _terrible._"

"I worked so hard to get into Harvard, I sacrificed everything to move to Massachusetts, and now I'm going to lose Sam to a bottled-blonde reincarnation of Grace Kelly. It's not _fair_."

Rachel clicked her tongue gently then startled as the bell over the shop door rang. Kurt recoiled too, having forgotten where they were.

"Don't worry, we'll come up with a plan," Rachel said with a smile as she got up to greet the customer.

_I like the sound of "we,"_ Kurt thought as the burden on his heart lightened by half, now shared with someone else.

* * *

Leaving the restaurant was like coming up for air after a long dive. Blaine drove his usual circuit through Harvard's campus and many of the neighborhoods nearby, compressing everything his father said into a tiny box and shoving it in the dark corner of his mind to which he tried to never go. He couldn't erase the words, but he could choose to ignore them. When the fight against bursting into tears was finally won, Blaine drove home.

He blessedly shed the awful black suit, grateful to put something on with actual color and pattern. Just methodically rolling up the cuffs of his gold pants did an enormous service to help Blaine get back into a good place. He felt much better as he hung the suit jacket and pants back on the rack, hoping they would be minimally wrinkled for next week's lunch. As he closed his closet doors and so shut the door on the person he had to be around his father, Blaine finally thought about Kurt.

At first he hadn't texted Kurt to check on him because he couldn't, not with the lunch. Now that he was more than capable, Blaine had completely overthought the situation. It didn't help that the only reason Blaine _had_ Kurt's number was through the focus group program, a way for Blaine to coordinate study groups and find out who was supposed to bring the donuts.

_Definitely not intended to be used for personal reasons._

In a lot of ways Blaine didn't even know why he cared so much. He didn't know much about Kurt and it probably wasn't even Blaine's place to make sure he was okay.

On the other hand, Blaine absolutely knew why he cared. It was beyond Kurt's general well-being; it was like Blaine had seen himself in Kurt's rejection. Blaine knew so well what it felt like to run from problems, and he knew what it felt like once the running was over and everything caught up.

His mind was made up. But how to go about it?

Text message? _Too impersonal._

Email? _Way too impersonal._

Phone call? _What do I say? "Hey, I saw you get rejected today and I called to see if you were crying about that"?_

Blaine cringed at the thought. _No, no, and no. _He had to do it face-to-face, and there was no way around it.

He pulled the info sheet closer, peering at Kurt's section. Under his phone number and email there was an address and an apartment number.

Blaine typed the address into his phone's GPS and grabbed his keys as he waited for it to give him directions. The car door was open and Blaine had one foot inside before he looked at the phone screen again. _Huh._ The GPS was telling him that he was already at the destination.

He looked again at the address in his hand, and realized that it was familiar; it was the same address on the bills that came to his apartment. Blaine had never bothered to memorize his address because he only had to give it to companies that wanted his money, instead choosing to copy it off the post-it note above his desk whenever it was necessary.

So he and Kurt lived in the same apartment complex. Blaine enjoyed a little burst of pleasure over that as he slammed the car door and locked it back. He practically danced through the parking lot, bouncing all the way around building 2.

Halfway to building 1 Blaine remembered that he didn't actually know where he was going. He paused long enough to read the address for the third time. _223_. Something about the numbers was prickling the edges of his consciousness, bringing up a memory that was just out of reach. Blaine wondered if he had known someone to live in that apartment before Kurt, but he couldn't come up with an answer for that either.

_Second building, second floor, apartment 3_, he recited the apartment numbering system as he ran up the stairs of building 2. It wasn't until Blaine was looking at the brass numbers on the apartment door that the memory finally pulled free from the dredges of his mind.

_A Ryder truck. Boxes everywhere. Crowds of people. Haze of anger. Fierce instinct to defend. _

Blaine looked to the parking lot in disbelief, trying to find something solid to tie down the memory to reality, almost wishing he wouldn't see—_a tiny blue car._ If that didn't confirm his questions, the California license plate attached to it did.

A series of sharp barks from behind the apartment door made him whip his head back. _A tiny brown dog._ And, holding that dog...

"The most beautiful thing I've ever seen," Blaine said out loud as he tried to piece everything together in his mind. He backed up quickly from where he had been about to knock, trying to file away the thoughts that had suddenly become a jumbled mess. He knew the Kurt that was Kurt Hummel, his focus group member and academic protégé. But he had found that Kurt was also Kurt, optimistic to the disastrous fault of surprising his oblivious ex-boyfriend in the courtyard. And now Kurt was Mr. 223, the mysterious and magnificent man that Blaine had nearly forgotten about.

The details of the day were blurred, but Blaine could remember the emotions. An attractive stranger had been unapologetically himself, willingly oblivious to the judgments of others. Blaine had been angry before he spotted him, he remembered that, but that anger doubled when coupled with a sudden intense urge to protect.

Even as Blaine was ready to rip the onlookers apart, the stranger had been unfazed. He had ignored every stare and catcall and finished the job he needed to do. Where Blaine's first instinct was to fight for equal treatment, this man had been content to let people think what they wanted and didn't let it change what he did.

It wasn't until Blaine was frantically pacing outside Apartment 223 that he realized why the chance encounter affected him so much that he could still remember—it was everything that Blaine had never been able to be, everything that he still didn't have the guts to do. Just as Blaine had been going to vent his frustration from fighting to be himself he ran into someone who never thought about being anyone else.

He couldn't stay. He couldn't face Kurt like this, knowing that Kurt wasn't just Kurt anymore. Now he was a million other things.

He had to stay. Kurt could be sobbing into his sheets right now, and Blaine was the only person who would know. Kurt could be hurt, or hurting himself, or just feeling alone.

Blaine remembered the Kurt from the parking lot, so brave, and he felt stupid for being scared.

The doorknob started to turn and Blaine flinched, caught in his pacing right in front of the door. There was nowhere to go.

It swung wide open and Kurt was there, framed by the opening and holding his dog and _oh,_ not wearing a hat. His blonde hair was much more obvious now, and Blaine wondered how he hadn't made the connection to the memory before. Then he noticed Kurt was still wearing the purple pants. _Yeah, that's probably why._

Blaine squinted, mentally putting Kurt's features on the fuzzy face from his memory and _yes_, there it was. Kurt was _Kurt._

"Blaine!" Kurt's eyes were huge in surprise, his free hand flying to his chest. "You scared me!"

"Kurt!" Blaine said, copying his tone in his nervousness and mentally smacking himself for being thoughtless. He hoped Kurt didn't take it offensively. "Sorry about that."

Kurt smiled a little, leaning against the doorframe. Looking closely, Blaine could see signs that he had been crying; his eyes were still a little bloodshot and his hairline was wet from washing tear tracks away. He looked and sounded drained, like he had been emotionally wrung out.

"So, were you going to knock, or…?"

"I was getting to that," Blaine hedged, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Kurt laughed and Blaine couldn't remember why he had been having such a bad day. He found himself smiling, and then he was laughing too, the sound strange to his ears as he couldn't remember the last time he had someone to laugh with.

"Wait, wait," Kurt interjected, suddenly serious as he dabbed at the corners of his watering eyes. "How do you know where I live?"

"Well," Blaine struggled, caught and remembering far too late that he needed an answer to that question. He went with the truth, or most of it. "I may or may not be abusing my post as your focus group leader."

Kurt raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, I'm definitely abusing it."

He laughed again, and Blaine tried to commit the beautiful sound to his faulty memory, dreading what he would have to say next.

"Actually, Kurt, I came to check on you. I wanted to make sure you weren't still upset about what happened earlier."

Blaine's heart sank as the smile fell from Kurt's face completely, leaving his lips in a thin line and a crease between his brows.

"Earlier?" Kurt said carefully, and Blaine made a split-second decision. The hardness in Kurt's eyes and Blaine's deep desire to not upset him further made him choose the cowardly option.

"Professor Smythe, I mean. He can be pretty intense," Blaine explained, "and say things that he doesn't realize are hurtful. And you kind of ran out after class and I just wanted to make sure that you were okay," he finished lamely. Blaine didn't know if he had been convincing, but he tried.

"That's…" Kurt began, pausing to clear his throat. "That's incredibly thoughtful of you. Wow."

Blaine panicked a little, worried that he'd said too much, gone too far.

"But I got a cupcake earlier, with a side of perspective," Kurt continued before Blaine could scramble to apologize. "And I think I'll be alright." His smile was back, though it was touched with sadness.

There was no room in Blaine's dizzying head rush of relief to ponder over Kurt's confusing words.

"Great!" Blaine exclaimed, entirely too cheerful after Kurt's admittance. He lowered his voice sheepishly and tried again. "Great, Kurt, I'm glad."

Thankfully Kurt just smiled wider, the grin still a little sad but very, very real. Blaine was so pleased it was ridiculous.

"Well," Blaine reluctantly interrupted the moment, "actually, I just live over there." He pointed to building 3, and Kurt turned his head to look. "Apartment 324. If you ever, um, yeah." Internally cursing himself, Blaine looked down at his feet.

Kurt nodded. "Okay, I guess I know where to go if I _ever, um,_ yeah?"

Blaine almost ran right then but when he looked up, Kurt was still smiling. Almost… teasing? It didn't stop his face from turning pink, though, and Blaine could feel it burning.

"I'm glad you're okay," he repeated himself, trying to make somewhat of a graceful exit. "And since I live over there, I'm just gonna…" he trailed off, gesturing towards building 3 again.

"Oh!" Kurt interjected, and Blaine turned back from where he had been halfway to leaving. "Actually, I was just going to walk Thatcher." Blaine had completely forgotten about the Chihuahua that Kurt was holding. For all the barking he had been doing earlier, the dog had been strangely silent for their entire conversation.

"Oh, okay," Blaine agreed. "We can just walk together then."

Kurt closed and locked the door, then led the way to the stairs on the building 3 side. Blaine followed, wondering if he should say something. At the bottom of the stairs Kurt paused to put Thatcher down and Blaine was suddenly fascinated by the people playing volleyball in the pool and anything else that was _not_ Kurt's purple pants.

"So I guess this is where we part," Kurt said as he straightened up, Thatcher's shiny silver leash in his left hand.

Blaine nodded. "See you soon?"

The smile he got in return was bright enough to warm Blaine from the inside out. Kurt nodded, waving a little as he set off for the little park at the back of the apartment complex.

Blaine headed for his own apartment, glancing back at Kurt's disappearing figure as he went with Thatcher leading the way.

When Kurt was out of sight Blaine trudged up the stairs to his empty apartment, resisting the urge to run to the far side balcony of building 3 to get a final glimpse.

* * *

Later, as Blaine was at the stove stirring his dinner for one, he found himself humming. He realized it just as he was going to drain the pasta, making his grip falter and a few noodles jump ship into the sink. He stopped the sound abruptly in his surprise, looking around cautiously like there was someone to see.

Maybe it was inappropriate to hum after the day he had. Maybe it was tasteless, or a precursor to mental illness. Perhaps it was just a bit pathetic.

But Blaine couldn't be disheartened. Mr. 223 was a _real person_. And if that fantasy had truth to it, maybe some of his courage could be real, too.

On that impulse of hope Blaine clicked on the old radio/CD player he kept in the kitchen, letting the inane beat of the latest Top 40 hit fill the room.

He didn't know the words, but by the end of the chorus he was humming along, letting the sticky sweet repetitive lyrics soothe his soul. He bobbed his head and snapped and even did a little spin and for once, his empty apartment didn't seem quite so lonely.


End file.
